Time Travel
by DysfunctionallyCute
Summary: Life is but a set of travels – journeys made through time and space. Fortunate are those whom find kindred souls along the way to guide and love, taking them high and low, forwards and backwards towards the great unknowns. When we keep going where we are headed then we will get to where we are going – together. -Follows where "Then We Must Change" left off.
1. Towards

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel**

**Chapter One – 'Towards'**

Two months since the incident that prompted my flight.

Two weeks since autumn term started up.

Two short days until the weekend.

Two hours until we lunch.

Two people I love.

One family.

One life.

Us.

It all had come to a head that fateful day – a wake-up call, an enormous and frightening blow to our egos. _Both_ our egos. Yet it was also an end of sorts, an end to drifting aimlessly in separate vessels on an ever stormier sea. Somehow, in spite of it all, we could still see the beacon lit in the distance, a flame that has never been snuffed out. And that was a good direction for us to keep focussing, to move towards – a shared flicker of hope.

Martin having taken us out to the farm that long weekend, the week after it all happened, turned out to have been just what the doctor ordered, so to speak. Breathing room; a chance to clear our heads and just listen to our thoughts without the noise of our shattered home life intruding.

Of course we didn't and haven't completely fixed everything, not at all. What we have got done is to acknowledge that we have fears and weaknesses – and to come to understand that the only way forwards is going backwards.

After we'd returned home, Martin had deemed it necessary for me to resume my warfarin therapy. He felt confident the filling he had placed in my brain was holding nicely for that _problem_, and shouldn't cause a bleed, but was becoming increasingly concerned about the clot – or _clots_, as he had emphasised, that could possibly cause an even bigger _problem_.

Luckily I trust Martin completely as a doctor, or I might just have fretted at that explanation. He'd also had me fitted for a new very fancy and comfortable shoulder brace contraption, with all the latest bells and whistles, and it had made for a world of difference. The brace also had the added 'benefit', if you will, of being practically impossible for me to put on or take off by myself, so that had become my husband's job.

I had teased him then, that I was nothing but 'problems' all'round, to which his response had been to sternly tell me I was never to speak such a thing ever again. That's my Martin...

Of course, divesting me of the brace at night for my bath, and then carefully putting it back on afterwards, had at times put our minds right back to our wonderfully intimate last night spent at the farm. There, under the subtle blue light of a full moon, after carefully wrapping my shoulder, Martin had ever so slowly and gently made love to me in what is the closest to a bonding experience we have ever shared – fulfilling a sense of need and belonging we had both desperately been craving for a long time.

And where the brace had lead us down the path of intimacy on a fairly regular basis since then, it had also forced us to rethink how we behave around one another in the wake of a row. Oh yes – Martin still makes me angry a lot of the time and I still get on his last nerve more often than he will dare to admit. However, we literally had been made to face each other and rely on the other for our little family to go on. He couldn't withdraw and hide in his office till all hours, lest he fancy me in bed unkempt and in my day clothes – something he would never allow of himself. Nor could I very well throw my arms up in the air and run away in anger, I needed his help. We've needed and had to rely on each other more than ever before and I think that dependency has helped us live again.

Our biggest test to that notion had come just shy of three weeks ago, a week before I was due back at the school, a tried-and-tested recipe for a row – finding a minder for James Henry. Michael having returned, or _been_ returned I reckon, to the Army, we were yet again up against trying to find a reliable care option for James. Martin had insisted on a child minder who would come to the surgery and care for James at home. Though I was in no way opposed to this, I was aware of the fact that as much as my fellow villagers love James Henry, none of the lot embraces the idea of working in close quarters with the great doctor.

When I had popped into the shop for some baby things earlier that day I had bumped into Hana Newton who also had done, and of course we got to chatting about kids and babies, our own especially, and all those helpful little secrets of being a mum.

Hana, one of my Teachers Aides for the past year, had tearfully given me her final notice during Spring Term, after her husband, Ian, had been offered a much higher paying job working on the oil rigs. This also meant that she would be looking after their two young kids by herself with Ian off for weeks at a time on an unpredictable rota. As much as she would miss 'my' kids, she just couldn't bear leaving her own to be handed off left and right last minute. So when she had kindly offered to mind James Henry along with her two while I was at school, I thought it brilliant. James would be in a safe place with a mum I know and trust and he'd have little friends to play with while learning to socialise. I could bring him 'round on my way to the school in the mornings and pick him back up on my way home. And the Newtons' cottage is right near the bottom of Rose Hill, so close to the school – I'd be nearby should there be a problem.

It was just perfect and I'd been so excited to tell Martin all 'bout it, as I'd figured we'd found a great solution; one that would also cut down on our bickering during hectic mornings as well as eliminate Martin's inevitable friction with whomever would have been underfoot in the surgery with James. I'd even bought his favourite fish and veg to prepare for us that evening, my spirits had been that high.

Instead, we'd clashed horribly over our meal, regarding 'standards' and 'level of care' and other unfounded rubbish. I'd called him rude and controlling and stormed off, throwing my napkin on the floor and grabbing James Henry from his high chair to get him ready for bed.

For that past week I hadn't been wearing my brace whilst at home, so that I could do my PT exercises more often. Most nights, though, I'd still opted for it, thinking it may keep me from rolling on my shoulder awkwardly while asleep. Nevertheless, James' night-time routine was no longer a problem for me, it just took us a little while longer. And so as soon as he'd settled down for the night and had gone off, I'd stepped in the bath and cried my eyes out – disappointed and deflated, but most of all I'd been angry with myself.

After washing and stewing long enough to resemble a prune, I'd finally got out, wrapped myself up in Martin's towel and unlatched the door to the bedroom half-heartedly to look for my pyjamas; which I'd guessed were likely somewhere on the floor alongside my towel. Instead of the anticipated self-pity party of one, I'd found Martin stepping towards me with his outstretched hand clutching my towel. Upon noticing me already towel-clad, his hand had dropped to his side and I'd noticed how defeated he looked – his features solemn and his eyes red-rimmed. Carefully laid out on our bed beside him were my neatly folded flower-patterned pyjamas and the complicated shoulder contraption.

My tears had taken hold anew then, and I'd closed the gap between us, buried my face in his neck and clung to him under his jacket. I'd been emotional, no doubt, but he'd embraced it . . . me, rested his chin on the top of my wet hair and simply held me – for a long while.

Somewhere along this latest sojourn, we'd crossed over from the familiar refuge of self-validated retreat to a fragile, but powerful, want for mutual consolation.

That was the night my brace had got put away. I really hadn't a use for it anymore, and _we_ no longer felt the need for relying on it neither. In many ways it had provided us with the support we'd been in need of to start bridging the gap between two broken souls, much like it had allowed for the fractured ends of my collar bone to come together and heal – layers of new growth strengthening over time.

'Course my arm is still weak, and painfully sore if I'm not careful or if I forget, but by continuing with the therapy I should regain full use of it again and eventually the discomfort is expected to subside as well. It could have been so much worse – yet it became our turning point. There is a greater lesson to be learned from all of this. . . .

So we are doing okay, Martin and I, we think. It is still early days and we are only two weeks into our normal hectic day-to-day routines, but we have made and are making some changes; improvements – visible and not, and we've found and accepted help. Ruth had cast her net wider for us and suggested a different psychiatrist than she initially had in mind for Martin's blood phobia. Once she'd realised we were both in this together her criteria changed, I imagine, and her choice has been spot on.

Dr. Beryan "Ann" Arscott, "Dr. A.", puts me in the mind of a slightly younger, taller and more refined version of Joan. Approachable and friendly, yet possessing the same no-nonsense demeanour and sheer presence – she's a force to be reckoned with.

Our first meeting with her had been the week after we'd got home from the farm, at her office in Truro. Quite a ways away and making for a late evening, but even Martin had seemed as if he could eventually be able to accept her as a necessary part of our future. Very introductory in nature, she had simply asked of us the basic facts she would need to start navigating; our history, current living arrangements, our professions and so on – though I suspect Ruth had filled her in a bit as well.

Thankfully Martin hadn't completely shut down, nor audibly voiced his disapproval, and he had seemed pleased by her suggestion to accommodate us by seeing us in her private home office right outside Little Petherick, which would shorten our travels by half and make the experience a little less formal. As we had got up and Martin had walked over to fetch our coats off the rack, Dr. A. had called us back with a few parting words for the road.

'I will help you, Louisa and Martin Ellingham, and we shall get you to your safe harbour together. However, the most important part of this journey lies solely with the two of you. _You_ need to keep that beacon bright, as bright as you can – love one another. Do not drown in the misery, do not get pulled under by your current spiral of challenges, tread water if you must. You both possess an awareness now; it's in the open that all is not well and there is a new level of transparency. So take advantage of that and start living _because_ of it. Move towards life again. Then – and only then, can we push on forwards and look at ways to knock down some walls. For a start, decide on a project to focus on together, other than your son, something new that isn't related to either of your careers. Talk about how you think that project can make a difference for you. Then let me know next time I see you how you handled that challenge. Safe travels you two.'

Little had I known then just how literally Martin would take her words.


	2. Rerouting

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

Time Travel

Chapter Two – 'Rerouting'

In less than an hour Louisa and James will be home for lunch, which gives me just enough time to disconnect and remove the computer, printer and phone from the reception desk and stow them away safely in my consulting room. Al had been here earlier to help Morwenna perform a backup of all the necessary programmes, while she had recorded a new message on the answerphone on my desk. Keeping my door locked, to prevent medications from accidentally wandering off while I am away, seems like a reasonable precaution. One can never be too careful.

Briefly I had considered temporarily depositing the schedule 2-controlled drugs at the chemist's with Mrs. Tishell, but had quickly dismissed the idea as absurd. Under different circumstances that would have been my choice of action, but the woman is unpredictable. I had told Louisa that Mrs. Tishell would not have been released had the professionals in charge of her care found her mentally unfit, but I am not completely convinced this is currently the case. I will be keeping a close watch.

Having finished draping the reception furniture I head into the sitting room with the last few sheets, but decide against covering the table and sofa for the time being. James has been pulling himself up by the cushions as of late, standing up unassisted for extended periods of time, and he will surely pull a cover right off the sofa if his persistence is any indication. I make a mental note to finish with the sitting room in the morning when James will not be here. Al has already relocated the furniture to the far end of the room, so the majority of the work has been handled.

I start dicing vegetables for our meal, after thoroughly washing my hands, and add them to the broth I have simmering in the pot. When filleting the haddock to add to it, I take great care to ensure the pieces are all uniform and small enough in size for James to safely consume, as he is showing great interest in the white fishes at the moment. Louisa had seemed rather flummoxed at this observation, but as I had explained to her; fish low in mercury is perfectly suitable for infants. As a matter of fact it should be highly encouraged in the diet of infants and toddlers alike, as a diet rich in omega-3's, lean protein and vitamin D is essential for brain development and strong bones. My wife had then declared this as further proof that James Henry was taking after his Daddy and would be brilliant because of it. Secretly I was pleased that my son would have a seemingly good quality of mine, few that they are.

Perhaps I am capable of making a few positive changes, when necessary. It does appear that my suggestion, following our breakdown, to close the surgery doors daily, at exactly one o'clock for one hour, has had some merit. Louisa and I have missed very few lunch dates since then. There has been the occasional medical emergency or school meeting, of course, but generally we have made a go of it. She picks out our lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, usually something she prefers and picks up from the market on her way here, and I prepare the food for us on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It seems to be a reasonable compromise.

Today, being Thursday, is an exception; both as the food and James Henry are concerned. Usually it is just Louisa and I, which has allowed us to actually communicate more and finish conversations without interruptions. Louisa respects my preference for sparse conversation during the actual meal, but conversing after has been . . nice – useful, and generally amiable.

Seeing as we will be away from our home this weekend and that today's scheduled preparations need to be met, I had suggested Louisa pick James up from the minder on her way here and take the afternoon off from school as I had already closed the surgery at noon today. This will give us ample time to assure all will be ready for a timely and favourable outcome. Tomorrow Louisa will take James to the minder in the morning and spend a half-day herself at the school, while I will stay behind here to assure everything gets started, and answer any questions that may arise, before picking Louisa and James up at noon to head out to the farm. If all goes according to plan, we will stay there until late Sunday afternoon.

Ladling out a broth-less half portion of soup for James, allowing it to cool sufficiently prior to his pillaging through it, I can hear my son approaching from around the corner before I can see him. Thankfully he sounds to be in an elevated mood, which usually means his mother will also be mostly agreeable.

These first two weeks he has spent at the child minder's, away from home and all that is familiar, have surpassed my expectations. I had been convinced that he would be stressed in a new environment, and as such easily come down with every conceivable bacterial or viral illness known to man. However, he seems generally healthy and has also slept more consistently at night, possibly related to the additional stimulation to which he is being exposed. Initially our discussion regarding the child care matter had been quite volatile, but as cooler heads prevailed we had come to the mutual decision of trying the arrangement until half term, at which point we will re-evaluate the situation.

"Hi Martin, sorry we're a bit late – _somebody _was showing off his legs of steel and did not want to let go of the net on his playpen. You did good in getting that for him, you know, as Hana assures me he loves to nap and play both in it. Getting him his own little space was quite intuitive of you Martin, maybe you can fold it and take it with you tomorrow, when you pick him up? He'd like that – for his home away from home to come with. We'll need to get Daddy a special 'Number ONE Dad' vest, won't we James?"

She hadn't looked entirely serious as she said it, but just the thought left me aghast.

"God, no! Now let's eat before the soup gets over-cooked and the fish completely falls apart, and I just warmed the bread. There's tea if you want some, but there is water on the table. And the sooner we finish lunch and get cleared away, the sooner we can start on the tasks ahead."

"Martin Ellingham, are you excited? You're actually excited, aren't you? You are!"

"I...am simply ready to get on with the conclusion of our project. Now that it is actually here, I would like us to do everything we can to prepare for a successful execution of the final stages."

"And I am very proud of you for that. This is a brilliant idea, you know, and I think we have worked together remarkably well to get to this point, don't you? To be completely honest with you, Martin, I hadn't a lot of faith in us even being able to agree to take on a project, let alone come up with one of this magnitude. But you've proven me wrong, very wrong, which has _me_ incredibly excited I will have you know. We'll have to find ways to celebrate this weekend, won't we husband?" The look in her eyes holds great promise of just that.

Louisa is right, of course. I_ had_ been apprehensive at the suggestion made by Dr. Arscott that we 'come up with and discuss a new project' or some such nonsense. It had reeked of the claptrap I had been prepared to dismiss, yet seeing Louisa sitting next to me wearing her brace, and remembering the reason I found myself in Truro that very evening, had effectively ended that line of thinking and left me temporarily paralysed with fear, preventing the words from escaping – which had been very fortunate.

And we _have_ worked surprisingly well together on this project. Despite the fact that very little of what Dr. Arscott had said after my near slip-up had made it through my mental fog, I had picked up on what directly preceded it – that our moving forwards would require us knocking down some walls. So on our drive home that evening a picture had formed in my head, clear as day, and I remember thinking we should have thought of it sooner.

Louisa and I have decided to make our home just that – _ours._

In my opinion the obvious starting point towards this goal is to eliminate as much interference from disease-laden time-wasters as possible. I have never been happy with James Henry and Louisa being constantly exposed to the myriad of communicable diseases present in this village, specifically in my reception, nor do I like the villagers observing our every move with their overly keen ears piecing together the latest gossip as they see fit.

Our 'project' is hopefully going to provide a solution to several of these _minor_ annoyances, which have caused us undue distress throughout our union, and it should also make letting the cottage in the future more feasible, as the living area will be available to let separately from the surgery. And in order to accomplish this we are, in overly simplified terms – knocking down some walls.

Currently our stairs lead directly down into the reception area, which is just not ideal for my patients nor myself in the surgery setting and highly impractical for us as a family. As there is no need for relocating the stairs entirely, we will instead be redirecting the flow of traffic by adding some walls and opening another.

The existing banister will be removed in favour of a solid wall infill, which will continue as a new full-height wall a good metre past the bottom step column location. From there a perpendicular full-height wall will be run towards the entry hall to align with the existing hall back wall, effectively boxing in our stairs and separating them from the surgery. Our new entry will lead into our sitting room.

To accomplish this, the large walk-in cupboard behind the sofa will be demolished to allow for the new open entry, which will also provide us with valuable new floor space, directly opposite the wall from the surgery lavatory. A new opening will be cut through the existing wall at the bottom of the stairs and our current entry hall closet will be removed and the opening filled in to make a solid wall – this will complete the main transformation.

The two distinct entry choices from the main hall will thusly remain per its current layout, with the doorway on the right leading to the surgery, which will remain door-less. However, on the left will be the private entrance to our home, which will stay _closed_ from now on – as it should be. This alone should provide us with some normality and in the future, if or when we decide to let, the surgery door can be re-hung and both doors can be fitted with proper lock sets. For the time being we both agree this is not necessary.

As to the finishing touches, Louisa had some very insightful and and surprisingly practical ideas. On the surgery side she suggested we blunt two feet of the corner where the two new walls come together past the stairs. This will improve flow in the reception area and make it a little less boxy. I value clean lines in architecture, but I can see the logic behind this modification and it will not interfere with our use of the stairs on the opposite side, as we will now be making a right turn at the bottom. She also pointed out how it would aesthetically tie in with the look of the already angular deep window frames. This makes no difference as far as I am concerned, but as the general idea was sound I had decided to let that argument pass.

Our living area is where _Mrs_. Ellingham is really leaving her mark on our project. With the existing wall along the stairs being load-bearing, and partially housing the lavatory as well, we cannot simply knock it down. Rather, Louisa suggested widening the new entry opening beyond the regular-sized doorway I had initially envisioned, by placing another column at the bottom of the stairs for support, like the one we currently have. By doing so we can then safely remove the bottom third of the stair wall and reuse a short run of the old banister, which will also keep with the original architecture of the cottage. In the limited area that will open up under the stairs she wants to add some built-in storage for James' toys. And, finally, in the newly acquired deep corner towards the kitchen Louisa had envisioned a desk – a proper workspace for herself consisting of the desk, drawers and wall-mounted bookcases and shelving.

This, of course, will have the additional benefit of freeing up our kitchen table for its intended use _and_ keeping Louisa's time-tabling out of my surgery. So yes, I am ready for our project to get underway. And, I may possibly even be experiencing something akin to excitement at the thought of seeing my wife's smiling face seated in front of her very own desk.

Leave out the filthy animals, and I may go as far as to say we are building our proverbial ark.


	3. Right Turn

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Three – 'Right Turn'**

Bringing James down the stairs Friday morning and looking into the surgery from above for the very last time felt, well . . . odd really. It was different, 'course, without Morwenna and the villagers milling about, but it was also . . . it was also – nostalgic.

The very _first_ time I'd come down these stairs had been an October morning, a Saturday, and I'd been thoroughly loved up by my fiancé of less than a week. I'd looked the part, I'm sure, as I walked into the kitchen where a suit-clad Martin had been preparing an egg and soldiers for me. His face had instantly mellowed, then a blush had crept onto his cheeks as he apologetically whisked me back up the stairs, following closely with the breakfast tray. 'Patients' was all he'd said, but I'd understood. Engaged or not, I still had no desire to greet the village folk in Martin's dressing gown. Coming down fully dressed a while later had still caused quite the stir, the first of many. . . .

On this day, however, Al and the workmen would be here shortly and our 'project' towards more privacy would soon be underway. Martin had originally planned on staying behind the entire weekend to supervise, but I'd made him see that it would likely be too stressful for all involved and to let Al take that on – we were borrowing 'his' workers after all. The work at the farm was temporarily on hold pending some permitting type things, and as we were both impressed by the work they'd done for Ruth so far, we'd offered up our little job to keep them busy. Martin had eventually agreed to step down, after a somewhat heated discussion, but would stay on in the morning to see our project off.

Supervising Master craftsmen in their element may not be Martin's strong suit, but in the planning of it all I'd have to say he'd outdone himself. All the materials had been delivered yesterday afternoon and were for the most part stacked outside on the patio. Inside, rolls of heavy plastic for covering the carpets lay on the floor along the sitting room window and in front of them a giant air-cleaning machine would make sure to keep our home as dust-free as possible, Martin seemed to have thought of everything. He'd brought in a couple of cans of paint from the storage building in the back garden, after my suggestion of repainting the entire cottage had been nixed. These had been left over from when Pauline had supposedly ordered the surgery repainted a year or two ago.

Despite our differences, Martin does balance me out where I tend to impatiently get ahead of myself. Now would not have been the time to piggy-back on another big project, and repainting the entire cottage would not have been a small job. I think and hope that we are slowly learning to balance each other out and this project has taught us a lot about give and take and communicating.

When we'd touched on the subject of flooring, which will be needed from where the big cupboard sits now and on over towards the stairs, we'd both wrongly assumed what the other had wanted when in the end it turned out we'd both hoped for the same thing. I didn't want a continuation of the carpet, as it will be impractical in my new desk area with the chair sticking. Martin didn't want to tear out the perfectly good carpet already here to put down a brand new one. What we had both wanted from the very beginning, but hadn't said, was to match the kitchen linoleum as closely as possible, which would be practical both for my little corner and for the high traffic area towards the stairs.

So now the rolled up linoleum lay over by the heavy plastic supplies – an exact match to our kitchen.

XxXxX

"How did it go today, are we off to a good start you reckon?"

Martin was unfolding the playpen in Joan's old kitchen while James was kicking excitedly from his entrapment on my lap.

"They were eight minutes late. The floors have been sufficiently covered and when I left both cupboards were down and the banister was on the floor in the reception, so they appear to have made up for it. They seem adequately efficient."

Coming from Martin this is high praise.

"Good, then, and I'm sure Al's got it all under control".

I lowered James into his playpen and started retrieving the bits and pieces needed to make us some sandwiches for lunch.

"Well, they will be putting in long hours so I certainly hope Bert will refrain from wearing Al out in the evenings at the restaurant while he's back. Al needs to be fully rested and focussed on the job."

I laughed at that, sometimes Martin can be so clueless regarding non-medical happenings. Well . . . most the time really.

"Oh, I don't know, Martin, I don't think Bert's the one you ought to be worried 'bout, do you?"

I put the kettle on and looked around for some tablewares.

"What do you mean?"

"All I'm saying is that Al's probably staying with Morwenna, so if anybody is going to wear him out – well, you know . . ."

"He . . . WHAT?"

"You honestly didn't know?"

One look at him answered that question and I decided I'd better diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

"Relax, Martin. They've been going steady for over a month now and you obviously didn't even notice, so I think it's safe to assume they are both quite capable of doing their jobs _and_ being a couple, yeah?"

"Hmm."

"Cheese and pickles or chicken and mustard, or I can make some egg salad?"

"Explains the cleaning."

I'm used to Martin's thoughts catching me off guard, as he spends quite a bit of time within his own head; whole conversations at times I think, but this time he'd lost me completely.

"The cleaning, what does? You've lost me Martin.

"Morwenna, offering to clean after the the workmen have finished up."

"Well yes, she probably is eager to help Al put everything back in order for_ us – _she _is_ excited for us, you know. And it was very kind of her to offer, actually, can't say my arm's up to it still and your suit would've taken a beating. Don't forget, Martin, that she is quite _good_ at cleaning, as you well know, _and_ she is urgently in need of the added funds. Nothing wrong with working hard, now is there?"

"No, of course not."

"Good, that's settled then. So let's eat, shall we?"

After a mishmash of foodstuffs between the three of us, we'd decided to have a look 'round at all the changes since our last visit. Some three weeks ago, Ruth and Al had offered up chicken for Sunday roast dinner in return for some advice and ideas regarding their new venture and it had been a rather productive afternoon.

Since then the upstairs layout had been completed and the six small bedrooms had been turned into four; three of which share a hall bathroom and one larger bedroom at the end of the hall with an en-suite bathroom, a fireplace and a small separate sitting area with a pullout. Everything still needs repainted and so on, but the transformation was quite impressive.

Downstairs the renovation hadn't got underway yet and Al had set up temporary quarters in the family room. Eventually the barn would become a nicely set-up dwelling for him, with a small separate guest suite for Ruth or other private guests. For now, though, all it had received was a new roof and it was still being used for storage. Al had said for us to have a look at a couple of old trunks he'd uncovered under some broken furniture, so we'd headed on out there to see what might pop up amongst Joan's belongings – I was hoping for more pictures of Martin, as James was looking more like him every day. At the moment, though, James was sound asleep in the buggy, so we let him nap in the open and propped the door wide to keep an eye on him.

"Why she kept all this rubbish is hard to fathom, stacks and stacks of dated magazines?"

"She probably intended to get to them someday, Martin, but she ran out . . ."

" – of time, yes. If she had eaten better, and I had just . . ."

I'd stepped in it now; one solid step back. This is not the direction I'd wanted this afternoon to go and I mentally kicked myself.

"No, Martin, we've been through this. Joan was too stubborn even for you to get a handle on, but it is who she was and why she was still here at the farm doing what she loved – she was true to herself until the very end, and that is why we love her and miss her. She wouldn't have had it any other way, alright? Now let's see what's in this brown trunk."

We _had_ been through his guilt issues with Dr. A. and, in short, they had little to do with his medical decisions regarding Joan's care and everything to do with the unrealistic responsibilities having been placed on his shoulders throughout his childhood by most every authority figure in his young life, save Ruth, Joan and Phil. At some point during his early years, his developing brain had likely found the link between knowledge and control, which over time had matured into an extreme and flawed coping mechanism.

If the option were there, Martin would subconsciously _always_ blame his _own _actions, good or bad, as they were ultimately still under his control. Blaming _himself_ for all the bad things in his life was still a far more acceptable choice to him than the alternative. Per Martin's, and my, conversations with Ruth, this had likely happened sometime between the ages of four and six and Dr. A. had confirmed that from a child cognitive development perspective, this was likely a correct assumption. There may, or may not, have been one distinct trigger event that made that final connection for Martin, but only time will tell. . . .

It makes me so incredibly sad and angry, the injustice that has been carried out towards Martin, and it has been, and still is, extremely challenging for me to learn not to escalate my emotional response when the things that I hear stir me up to a boil. For me, the separation between empathy and sympathy becomes fuzzy when I get worked up, but Dr. A. has made it very clear that pity is Martin's nemesis and I can hurt him more than I help him if I'm not careful. I am to empathise, downplay and then matter-of-factly move us along, which goes against all my natural and professional instincts guiding me to talk about and analyse absolutely everything. It's a minefield, I can't deny that, and one helluva responsibility, but I'm trying to change – to fight for us; for Martin. My driving force is the knowledge that I do love him deeply, that our son loves us dearly, and that failure is not an option. That, however, makes me far from perfect at it.

"Oh, now this is a good find. This wooden toy train set was given to me when I was two and a half, Aunt Ruth had it sent here by post from the Abbatt Toyshoppe in London, to coincide with my first summer at the farm."

"Martin, that's wonderful – and it looks in great shape still!"

"Abbatt Toys were known for their innovative good designs, producing sturdy and age appropriate toys. Do you think James would like these if we have them cleaned?"

"Yes, he will and he'd love for you to play with him. I'll give them a good wipe-down and we'll let him have at it later."

This was indeed a great find. Good memories for Martin were usually like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow – just out of reach. Yet here was this toy train that he actually seemed pleased to have come across again.

"What's that black shape down there, Martin, at the bottom right corner, under the blanket?"

"My old wellies. Uncle Phil got them for me that following summer. They looked just like his pair, only smaller of course. We won't need to keep those, they'll have extensive dry-rot by now and I'd prefer James to have a new pair when he'll need boots."

"Yes, but I want to keep these anyways. Can you hand them to me, please – I'd like to have them, unless you don't me want to?"

"No, it's fine. I caught my first butterfly wearing those."

The thought of little Martin in his big boots, chasing after a butterfly with his uncle Phil, left me hopeful. A subtle feeling of happiness replaced the dimness from before, as we made our way out of the barn with our new-found possessions.

Sometimes I've found that the simplest of things can bridge the most insurmountable of voids, and whether you make it across on your own two feet in a pair of wellies, or choose to hop on a sturdy train in the end – if it takes you where you're headed then you'll get to where you're going.

And just like that, with two steps forwards, our day had taken a right turn.


	4. Baby Steps

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading.

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Four – ''Baby Steps"**

Coming to, I realise I'm at the farm with Louisa still snoring gently by my side. Now that her clavicle has fused we are back to our usual sleeping arrangements, which suits me better. Looking to my left, there is an alarm clock on the bedside table which reads 7:27 am. Over at the surgery Al and the craftsmen should have been working for almost half an hour at this point.

I look around the large room we are in and try to recall what was here before. Part of it had been hallway with a small spare room off of it, which if memory serves me right was always cluttered. The fireplace in here had never been functional back then and had been boarded up, with various old furniture stored throughout the room with clothing and bedding draped across every available surface. This farmhouse was always too big for Auntie Joan. With Uncle Phil here I know they had planned on filling it with children, but it never happened for them and I had become a fortunate part-time substitute.

James 'happened' to us having _not_ planned it, and I struggle often with the seeming injustice of this world. As a matter of fact Louisa and I had taken precautions for it not to happen, but initially our efforts had been rushed and our reasoning secondary – a seemingly adequate measure during our heightened emotional state. Somehow that night hadn't seemed like a deliberate choice I had made, rather my desperation had taken over, it was my last chance – I'd felt powerless, powerful and wanted. I hadn't regretted it then, and I never have since.

Six months later I was asked to give an 'unbiased opinion' on Edith's dissertation regarding 'spermicidal activity and vaginal permeability', with 'something not quite right in the concluding argument'. I had noticed a clever title, but the conclusion? My _biased_ 'conclusion' had stared me in the face every time I saw Louisa around the village pregnant with our child, and _it_ felt more than 'quite right'.

Edith had been just that – 'a clever title', yet nothing but empty words on pieces of paper. Whereas Louisa? Louisa has always been very real; flesh and blood, feisty and irresistible cover to cover. I had almost made the wrong decision on multiple occasions, and it haunts me still that I had been prepared to walk away from my son and Louisa so haphazardly, knowing now what I would have missed – knowing what _we_ have.

Last night we had placed the farm's travel cot in the little sitting area and I stride over to stand by James, needing to see him. He must have just awoken, as he greets me with his mother's wide grin and reaches out for me. Sitting us down on the sofa, he immediately starts his attempts at standing up in my lap, successfully balancing himself by holding on to my ears.

Now nose-to-nose, we simply study each other for what must be quite some time, and neither of us notice Louisa until she sits down silently next to us, at which point we both turn to look at her in surprise.

"See something familiar?"

"Oh. Uhm, yes – good morning."

"I was thinking more the two of you, it must be like going back in time and looking in the mirror, yeah?"

"Well, I will have to agree there are certain features that do resemble mine, but he's got your smile. But yes, Penhale can no longer question James' paternity I would certainly think."

"He was joking, Martin."

"Yes."

"Very good. And nobody has every doubted who the proud Daddy is, now have they James? So . . . would you maybe like your ears back now, then?"

"My ears? Ah, yes. Good."

Louisa detaches both of James' small hands from my large sensory receptors and slowly walks him across into her lap where only her intuition and quick reflexes prevent his hands from latching onto her long hair.

"Did you sleep well, Martin? I slept like a log, this new line of bedding Ruth got is very comfy."

"Uhm, yes I did. Did you know that other than the obvious immobility of trees, some have suggested the expression 'sleeping like a log' comes from the sawing of a log resembling the sound of snoring?"

"Oh really. No, I did not know that – thank you for that."

"Mm."

Standing up and walking to the window, she appears to be deep in thought before sighing and turning towards me.

"Speaking of trees, Martin. It looks like it may rain later so I thought that after breakfast maybe you could show James and I your lake and take us for 'a walk on the wild side', like you used to when you were a boy. Does that sound alright with you?"

"Yes, fine. That would be fine."

She hands James back to me and declares that she will go feed the chickens and loot for some eggs for breakfast.

Afterwards, as we are walking down the path to the lake, a clear memory of my previous trip back _up_ this very path comes to mind. A sombre mood descends over me, but I push it aside. Having slowly circled the small body of water, we arrive at the small wooden pier and I test it for safety prior to James and I stepping out on it. Somehow the vista has remained remarkably unaltered, with the large elm tree that had survived the elm disease outbreak back then still standing and the cycle of life in full force with various phases of flora throughout. Scanning clockwise along the water my eyes are drawn to Louisa, who has seated herself on the large white rock over by the tree-line. She is smiling at us and I am unable take my eyes off her.

"What?"

"Hm, nothing." I know I am staring at her, but if feel like I have unearthed a time capsule of sorts.

"No, what?"

Striding back over to Louisa I hand her James and turn to look at the rippling surface.

"My last day of summer, when I was eleven and three quarters, I stood in this very spot – contemplating. Later I found it had also been my last day on the farm as a boy. I had spotted a delicate Small White butterfly, the _Pieris rapae,_ hiding in plain sight on your rock. Seeing that it was a perfect female specimen, which had eluded me all summer, I knew it would be my one and only chance to get close. It was just sitting there, opening and closing its wings and making no attempts at flying away, and I had wanted to pick it up and study it in detail."

"But she got away?"

"No. I walked away."

I turned back to face my family, my son now playing in the grass.

"I . . . _you_, on this rock – I don't think I ever imagined you would be here. The concept of you, perhaps, but never with _me_.

"Why not?"

"I think . . . that day, I made a decision. One that has followed me ever since."

"Why did you? Walk away, I mean."

The sombreness resurfaces and there is no use in hiding it.

"When I was six, at our home in London, I had captured a beautiful butterfly, the _Colias hyale_, that I had pursued for some time. I had taken every precaution to safely keep it in a glass container until I could show it to my father, I was excited."

"But it_ did_ get away?"

"No. My father yelled at me for disturbing him, which frightened me, and the jar slipped out of my hands, shattering against the floor and harming the butterfly."

"Oh Martin . . . I am so sorry."

I look down at James.

"The night James Henry was conceived, I didn't walk away. Why?"

I note a tear trailing down Louisa's cheek as she moves to wipe it away.

"Maybe you were just . . . just thinking with your heart?"

"But I knew I would hurt you as well, inadvertently, and I did – I have. Why did that not matter, why did I do it? Doesn't that in effect make me heartless?"

Louisa gets up, takes my hand and squeezes it gently.

"No, Martin, it doesn't make you heartless, and I don't have the answer to the 'why'. Maybe, if you share it with Dr. A., she can shed some light on it, as an outsider?"

James pulls himself up by my trouser leg, clinging to my calf and tilting his head back so far to look up at me that I almost worry for his neck.

"What I _do_ know, Martin, is that I am very glad that you finally went for it, that you didn't walk away from us. It is, has and will be worth it, hard times and all. And if you hadn't followed your heart that day, this special little man wouldn't have been here, you know."

She looks lovingly at our son, kisses me full on the mouth, then darts off towards the elm tree.

"Give me just one minute, 'right?"

I finally pick James up and together we look at Louisa's scurrying back, equally puzzled. Before long she returns with a handful of items.

"We're making a sail boat, James!"

Observing with genuine interest it seems a dry piece of elm bark becomes the hull, a short twig bored into the bark doubles as the mast and a large leaf is threaded down the mast as the sail.

"Let's see if it will float, what do you think?"

We walk on over to the water's edge and she carefully lowers the raft into the water where the gentle winds carry it forwards out towards the murky centre. James is besides himself with joy and I hold him tighter to keep him from kicking me in his exuberance.

"That is quite clever, Louisa, James certainly approves. So far it appears quite seaworthy."

"You've never seen a bark boat? My Daddy taught me how to make them, and before you say anything; it is a good memory and I would like to keep it that way."

"Mm, yes."

The wind is picking up and the little vessel is swirling around in the dark waters, now being pushed in the direction of the pier.

"We'd better be heading back, Martin, it'll be raining cats and dogs before we know it."

"Well I certainly hope not."

"Are you making a joke?"

Taking my arm she leads us out on the wooden structure.

"See that, Martin? That is us, you and me, unsinkable and sailing towards home – like our wedding dance. Now let's hurry back, I don't know about you, but James and I could use a short sleep, and we're getting hungry again to boot.

After preparing and partaking in a substantial lunch unnecessarily high in carbohydrates, Louisa and James are, not surprisingly, sound asleep on the sofa in the sitting room. I phone Al at the surgery, who is assuring me that all is well with the job and even a bit ahead of schedule. Before breaking for lunch he had finished putting together Louisa's desk, which had been ordered as a flat-pack. I had wanted a bespoke piece for her, but she would have none of it due to the extra cost that would incur. After discussing a few items, I ring off feeling reassured with our decisions and progress.

Finishing the washing-up I notice the cleaned train set Louisa had sat on the shelf yesterday. I take it down and inspect it closely, deciding it looks sufficiently hygienic. For a moment I wonder if Ruth remembers purchasing this set and mentally tick the box to ask her about it later. A small basket by the door will double as train storage for now, and I carry the container into the sitting room and quietly set it down at one end of the sofa.

"Hmm . . . Martin?"

James is in deep sleep within the safety of his mother's legs and looks peaceful with his face pressed up against a warm thigh.

"Martin . . . I love you, you know, our little family – I just wanted to tell you that. And to remind you again that I'm not going anywhere, 'right?"

"Mm, yes. Good."

She touches James' hair gently and smiles at the innocence he portrays.

"Time to wake him, I reckon, or he'll never sleep later. You want the honour?"

"Hm, dubious honour I say, but necessary."

Picking him up I stroke his back as his alertness level slowly returns to normal, while his mother yawns and stretches, attempting the same.

"Why don't you get your train set out and put the rails down whilst I'll go get him changed and cleaned up?"

When they return James' grass-stained clothes are off and have been replaced by new tartan rompers and navy soft-soled suede shoes. After one of our sessions with Dr. Arscott, we had stopped in a shop in Wadebridge where Louisa had picked out some new clothing for him and I had carefully selected shoes, based on exact measurements I had taken of his feet that same morning.

As James spots the wooden train, a squeal that rivals a steam whistle leaves his little lungs and Louisa and I are both caught a bit off guard. I had laid the rails down in a simple oval, but it appears moving the locomotive and its attached coaches on the rails themselves is proving a bit too advanced initially and he is getting frustrated by the derailed train's friction against the rug.

"Louisa, why don't you distract him for a minute and I will lay the rails out in a straight line. Maybe we can pass the locomotive back and forth between us and see if he will mimic our actions. Or . . . if that is silly, maybe you can arrange it. I'm not very good at this sort of thing and I was older when I received the set."

"No, I think that's a great idea, Martin, brilliant actually. James and I will go put the kettle on, won't we? Want a cuppa or should I make you some coffee?"

"Tea is fine. Thank you."

I find myself sitting on the wood floor, my cup of tea behind me, with my legs on the edge of the same well-worn wool rug on which I had played as a boy. It is an odd sensation being here now and looking across at my wife and son on the other end of a toy railway, and I unexpectedly realise that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Placing the train on the rails I give it a gentle push and it hesitantly rolls along, almost coming up short and making Louisa having to reach for it. She helps James turn it around and push it back to me, with similar results. We repeat the process, this time with greater confidence, and the train makes it fully across and back. The third time James turns it around himself and sends it off with such enthusiasm and unrestrained force that the wooden missile jumps the rails and flies past me shattering my cup of tea to pieces with an unmistakable crunch.

Wide-eyed, and in sudden silence, we all look at each other. Louisa is chewing on her bottom lip, eyes pleading with me. Standing within his mother's arms, James' bottom lip begins to tremble as he looks first at me, then past me at the upturned and sodden locomotive.

I cannot help but sense that somehow all of my trials and tribulations; old and new, have culminated in this very moment in time and that what I choose to take from it; how I choose to move forwards, can make or break a whole other cycle of life.

_This moment is my second chance._

I settle my stripe jacket softly on the floor, covering the scattered puddle of shards, followed by my tie, which had suddenly seemed perfectly suited for wiping milky tea from a toy train.

As I hold up the salvaged train to show my son that it has indeed fared quite well, he bravely puts one foot in front of the other, repeatedly, until his little legs carry him across the rug and into my arms where his excited face is looking to me for affirmation.

I scoot us away from the mess on the floor and towards Louisa who, unlike her son, has reverted to crawling and is meeting us half way while talking encouragingly to him the entire time.

"That was brilliant Martin, absolutely bloody brilliant!"

"Yes, yes it was. Seeing James Henry take those first steps was, ah, quite . . . that was quite, something – impressive. Mm."

Louisa places a soft kiss on my cheek, moving her hand through my hair and whispering lightly in my ear.

"He wasn't the only one, you know."

And perhaps she is right. Have I been asking the wrong questions all along? Is it not the 'why', but rather the 'who' that matters? Have I been looking at this the wrong way around, trying to understand exclusively why I do, or do not, step away, when what really is important is _who _I travel with – and_ where_?

If how I feel in this instant, sitting here with Louisa and James Henry; if my pride and sense of belonging are valid indicators – well then I, as well, have taken giant strides forwards today. Whether we run, stride or take baby steps, we are now moving forwards in the same direction.


	5. Highs and Lows

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Five – ''Highs and Lows"**

My two Ellinghams were seated on the sofa in the sitting area of our weekend quarters, reading James' bedtime story; 'James The Red Engine', a clear favourite of late. After one of Martin's sessions with Dr. A. in Truro, a combined trip with his patient visits, he'd come home with the entire original Awdry Railway Series of books, twenty six in all, from an antiques shop across the way from the hospital. That's my Martin – no 'silly cartoons' for his son when the 'perfectly fine' earliest versions are obtainable, and apparently the sentient trains are acceptable when accurately illustrated and historically relevant. Though I disagree with deeming the newer Thomas & Friends books silly, I'll be the first to admit that I do love hearing him voice these original stories in chronological order and with great interest, something I never thought I would see from Martin.

We'd all had a big day today for different, if similar, reasons. However, emotionally I was completely swept over. Firstly, Martin had said and done all the right things today and I'd felt a sense of urgency to reward him for it, to reassure him. Then I'd found my son to be growing up entirely too fast and with the excitement I'd felt as he took his first solo steps had also surfaced the all-out neurotic mum in me when he'd walked away from my arms without a second thought. To top it all off I'd desperately wanted to phone Mum to tell her all about the new developments in my life, but then became equally disheartened when I'd realised that just thinking of mum got me riled. Still, I'd felt a need to phone _somebody_ to brag on James and Martin, and to express how happy and confused I was all at once, but I hadn't been able to come up with a single person who'd really understand and whom I'd truly wanted to share the moment with, which had left me feeling bereft and a bit lost.

Deep down I know I wish for that person to be Martin, but I also realise that's honestly neither realistic nor fair to him. But yet now here I am – needy, moody, restless and vulnerable at once, and Martin will be the one having to put up with me, fair or not.

As predicted, the skies had opened up a while ago and sheets of rain coming down could be heard drumming against the roof and windows, making me feel grateful to be inside. There had been a solid pile of wood stacked next to the hearth so I had made good use of it, lighting a fire to cut through the chill of the damp night.

James had finally gone off in the cot after his exhausting day, yet Martin remained on the sofa looking out into the dusk and the rain, still wearing his stripe trousers, blue shirt and burgundy braces – a fine male whom I'm very fortunate to call my husband. I rarely, if ever, get to see him in casual or 'different' clothing, but when sitting like this even his suit trousers leave little to the imagination and his solid build and stature got my attention from the very beginning and still leaves me feeling like a teenager at times. Martin, though, seems completely unaware of this fact, but I'm hopeful tonight will change a few things as I'm planning on showing him in no uncertain terms just how much I fancy him. Well, if he'll let me that is. . . . he can be so incredibly shy and sensitive, but then he can also be surprisingly confident and loving – bold even. I think we are both starting to discover what we bring out in the other, but as for tonight . . . it'll be a leap in the dark.

"Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"James Henry is, he's . . . our baby James is growing up much too fast, you know."

"No. As a matter of fact he is right on schedule with the projected developments anticipated for his age."

"Well, still . . ."

I hadn't really expected an explanation, though I should have done. Nor did I have a response that would make logical sense to Martin. A bit defeated I eased myself down in front of him, hugged his solid thighs and buried my face in his lap, feeling the need to hide and feel safe.

"Louisa . . . ?"

I knew I had to be confusing him, but it couldn't be helped right that minute, as I was confused and out of sorts myself.

"Louisa, are you . . . alright?"

His large warm hands hesitantly found my shoulders and I relished the touch, desperate for the comfort. I gave his thighs one last squeeze before looking up at him with a sad smile.

"I lit a fire for us, Martin."

Pushing myself back up off his knees I walked over towards the fireplace which was across from an old Afghan rug at the foot end of the bed. By the wooden frame was sat a large restored trunk and pilfering through it I pulled out a duvet and pillows that were likely meant for the pullout sofa, before finally finding a worn quilted bedspread at the bottom. Wrapping myself in it, I sat back against the trunk and stared into the dancing flames.

"Did you open the damper?"

That made me laugh, actually really laugh, as Martin sat down next to me.

"Yes, husband, that I did."

He looked at me intently.

"I also opened the champagne. Well, the sparkling apple anyways . . . you know, with the warfarin and all. Care to join me in a toast?"

"Drinking alcohol while on blood thinners is highly discouraged."

"Yes, I know that Martin which is why, like I said, I picked us out a fine organic sparkling apple. How much longer exactly do I have with this therapy, anyways? I haven't forgotten, you know, about our little dinner and wine challenge."

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek as an excuse to get even closer.

"And . . . the warfarin is also . . . also messing with other – things, and I'm not very happy about it."

"Well, it's been about two months, so ideally I'd say two additional months would be advisable. We can re-evaluate you in a few weeks, but your INR has been stable. What other things?"

_Great, always observant when I don't want him to be._

Just a couple of days ago I had been planning a romantic weekend; a reward for us having worked so well together on our project – I'd even practically told him as much, and normally I'd have been all over him at this point, but . . . what the good doctor _hadn't_ thought to mention about the warfarin was how my periods would be different and seemingly go on forever. And now _I'd_ be the one having to spell it out. A jolly good way to set the mood when just the thought of it all will likely make him lose his dinner, poor man.

"Uhm, side-effect . . . things, of the warfarin. I'd had tonight all planned out for us, but now it's spoilt and I'm a bit upset so there'll have to be a slight change of plans, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh Martin, do I really have to spell it out for you? You're a doctor. . . ."

I buried my face in his neck this time, feeling just . . . awkward.

"Louisa, it is common while on warfarin to experience heavy and extended menstrual periods due to the clotting factors being affected, if that is what you are referring to. Unless you are feeling unusually weak or are experiencing undue pain, I wouldn't worry. You are still taking your supplemental iron tablets, are you not?"

"Mm, and I feel okay, just . . . fed up. And I'm still not very happy talking to you about this kind of thing."

"Why not? It is actually a rather fascinating phenomenon, biologically speaking – how else could James Henry have joined us?"

"Yeah, well there is that. Now enough about . . . this – me, let's move on, shall we? Our evening may not be a complete washout and I need _you_ . . . to go with the flow, 'right?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning . . . that I am unbelievably proud of you – of what you learnt, or discovered, today and even more so how you acted with James. I meant it when I said you were brilliant, Martin, and I don't think I've ever loved you more."

"Oh, right."

"And I propose a toast in honour of my handsome men, who both moved me to tears today – I feel very special being part of your lives, privileged really. And . . . I wasn't going to bring this up again, but . . . I promise you, Martin, that the only running I will be doing going forwards is chasing you two 'round. I _do_ mean that, and I hope you can forgive my transgressions and toast to us all having grown up a bit."

"Uhm yes, I'd . . . like that."

"Good . . ." To Martin's credit he kept it together and steadily poured our flutes. ". . . whatever you say."

Untangling myself from the quilt, and carefully balancing my flute, I moved to sit astride him effectively pinning him against the old trunk.

"I didn't say anything."

"I know."

Raising my glass, I looked him in the eye and ground myself even closer to him, making him squirm just a little.

"To us, Martin, may we continue to grow – together."

"Mm. I like it, this is quite good."

"Oh – so you like this do you, hmm?"

It's so easy to catch him unawares at times and I try not to take advantage . . . most days.

"The _juice_ . . . sparkling apple, the _apple juice,_ is very good – refreshing, hmm."

"– 'That all?"

"Uhm, well, it is very . . . flavourful."

I kiss him deeply, practically tasting him along with the fruit.

"Mm hmm – I'll have to agree with you, Martin."

Then I polish off my drink and kiss him again, thoroughly.

"Louisa . . . what are you, er, doing?"

"I'm loving you, Martin, and I want to love _all_ of you tonight. I meant what I said earlier – I have never been more in love with you than I am right now. I need you and I really want to show you that I mean it, so please don't shut me out . . . please."

"I . . . I'm not, wasn't going to that is, I just . . . er, I need to make sure that you are good, I mean – fine, that you are fine. You are being very . . . emotional, Louisa."

"Shhh, tell you what. Why don't you go freshen up a bit and I will stoke the fire which . . . requires stoking up, I think. We're not in a rush, so take your time if you need to, 'right?"

This is somewhat new territory for us and although I sense some nerves in the mix I genuinely get the feeling he is equally, if not more so . . . intrigued. It's the ultimate in letting go, really – relinquishing control. That's a huge step for Martin and I'm really excited at the prospect of developing a new level of trust between us.

I decided to change into my long red satiny nightdress, which even though not overtly sexy, with just a bit of lace at the bust, is still quite nice and I even have matching knickers for it. Not that any of that really matters on this particular evening, but at least it'll make me feel classy and beautiful. Rearranging the duvet, bedspread and pillows I'd already scattered across the rug, I finish up by pulling up the quilt and lighting a couple of candles from the mantelpiece, placing them near the hearth.

Martin returned with all his clothes on, including the braces, for which I was glad – I wanted to take my time with him and for us to savour every minute of this.

"You look . . . good, Louisa, very nice. And this . . . is, er . . . nice."

He gestured to the various articles of bedding scattered all over. I was so sure he would object to the new bedding being on the floor, and to _us_ being on the floor, really, but he hadn't – he didn't.

"Good, I'm glad you like it – I want you to like it, to enjoy yourself."

"Louisa, you – I need you to know that I am not expecting anything – _this_, from you. I . . . I, just don't want you to feel like you have to . . . to think that you need to, you know . . . just because of your, er, circumstances."

I lightly touched my index finger to his lips to quiet and calm him.

"Good to know and duly noted. But, as I'm fairly certain you've picked up on by this point, I can be rather stubborn all way 'round, also quite vocal about things of which I disapprove and _highly_ opinionated in matters that I've put my mind to, yeah? So, isn't then fair to assume that – with your permission 'course, I intend to have my way with my rather hunky husband tonight?"

I softened my tone with my biggest smile, as he looked endearingly speechless.

"Uhm – yes, that sounds like a reasonable assumption. I just, I simply cannot fathom how someone as beautiful as you can possibly find someone like me even remotely . . . interesting like that."

"Why thank you, but why not? Though I don't suppose you would. Actually, I find you to be _quite_ fascinating really, Martin, biologically speaking . . . why else would you say James Henry came about, hmm?"

With that no more words were needed, as our needs became far more primal.

XxXxX

The morning after, so to speak, looked like a bomb had gone off . . . which, truly wasn't that far off mark. We'd both slept like logs after, and only James' insistence on starting the day bright and early this morning had summoned us to do as well. Last night had been quite lovely and – empowering; which seems an odd choice of words for the occasion, but it nonetheless fit and I'd added venturesome to my expanding list of things to be proud of Martin for.

After he'd reluctantly got up this morning, Martin had brought James over to me in the bed hoping I could convince him to cuddle up with his mum for a few more minutes while daddy had his shower, but I was failing miserably. James was all about his legs now and the fact that they had worked to carry him back and forth between his mum and dad several times yesterday. Those little feet were constantly moving, traction or not, so of course I found them an irresistible target for tickling until he was shrieking and laughing at the top of his lungs. Through no real fault of his own he got me good in the ribs and literally took my breath away for a few seconds, until I got my wits about me and aimed for his sides instead, which I'd learnt came with a near guarantee of turning him to putty.

"You, my little man, have not packed a punch like that since you were _actually_ under my ribs, and that – well, that seems like forever ago now. . . ."

And no . . . I hadn't had _that_ conversation with Martin yet, and wasn't sure if I ever would, or should – we have James. However, the fact that those thoughts were frequently surfacing these days, is probably an indication that we should have _the Talk_ – eventually. But that'll have to be for another day entirely, right now I was anxious to get home to our 'new' house and see and enjoy all the improvements we had been planning for, as a team, improvements we'd actually implemented together.

After a weekend of milestones I'd say we were _all_ excited and ready to go home. 'Course now there were two additional designs we realised we _hadn't_ implemented yet – high and low safety gates. So much for us enjoying the relative freedom of our 'new' stairs, but what a wonderful new compromise this was and how very fortunate we are to be making it.

Yes, things are definitely looking up for the Ellinghams now and for the first time in a very long while I think I am actually feeling – happy.


	6. Returns

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Six – ''Returns" **

Pulling the Lexus into my spot at the surgery I can feel myself starting to anticipate Louisa's reactions to the changes. I had phoned Al earlier and he and Morwenna had thoroughly cleaned away the dust and debris in preparation for our return, assuring me that we would be pleased with the results and our last minute upgrades. The only thing missing would be the safety gates for James, but seeing as Louisa and I are meeting with Dr. Arscott tomorrow we will stop by the shop in Wadebridge on our way over and collect them. We have already decided on the make, but wanted to wait until our renovations were completed to assure an accurate fit – and it appears not a minute too soon. We will just have to keep an extra watchful eye on him tonight, which shouldn't be that difficult – we always do.

"Martin, why are you doing that now? Come in the house with us!"

"Mm, yes."

I am trying to get James playpen out so that we can get our luggage, but Louisa is obviously eager to see what lies beyond our closed front door.

"This is exciting, isn't it James? Isn't it Martin?"

"Well, it is not an everyday occurrence."

Unlocking the door, Louisa hands me James and steps over the threshold, heading right for the surgery. I'd hoped she would have gone for our living areas first.

"Oh Martin, this is great! Look – look at the angled part of the wall, we worried for nothing and it goes so well with the window across the way. And the lamp, they added your little lamp up above, it makes it so nice and cosy. And the leaflet table is over there now and the old clothes stand is perfect right there, you'd needed one you know."

The clothes stand had been in the old cupboard and of course Louisa had insisted that we reuse it.

"Yes, it looks functional."

"Functional – is that all you can say?"

She's starting to sound a bit upset and I want her to move on into the sitting room, where the important changes have been made as far as I'm concerned.

"Uhm . . . why don't we see what else they have done, in _our_ area?"

"Right, yes. I just really don't understand you, Martin, how you can seem so disinterested in a project that you spent so much time planning for. I mean – it's as if you haven't given it a second thought and that none of it matters anymore. Just another day!"

"Louisa, that is not –"

I'm cut short when James grabs onto a top peg of the clothes stand as we're walking by, toppling it over and causing it to crash to the floor, barely missing the window. Suddenly I realise that he'll no longer need to be in here on a regular basis and with that realisation the comes the dawning that change may not be such a bad thing after all.

"Oh my God! Martin? Did you . . . did you do this?"

As she spots her new work area her demeanour changes immediately and she seems genuinely astounded.

"Well, the craftsmen did the work, obviously, but I thought that maybe you would like it."

"It's beautiful, it's absolutely beautiful, Martin. I . . . I don't know what to say."

"Well, you wouldn't let me get you a bespoke piece like I had wanted to, so it seemed the next best solution."

"It's the perfect solution – is the wood from the old cupboard?"

"Mm, yes it is. It seemed fitting somehow."

Louisa had been quite outspoken, initially, about demolishing the large cupboard in the sitting room. Not because she opposed my idea of moving the stair entry, but because she thought it a solid build that was still part of the cottage and she felt 'upset' at the thought of doing away with it – binning it. So when the craftsmen had assured me that we could reclaim most of the boards and combine them with the flat-pack, as well as build some shelves and bookcases from scratch, the choice had seemed a logical one. They'd also been able to utilise parts for creating James' toy storage cubes as well as a small step stool for him.

"Now I'll be thinking of you every time I sit here, so I'll be dreaming of my husband and not getting any work done – what a shame. No really, I absolutely love it, Martin, this was a very sweet and kind thing to do for me and it means more than you can possibly understand."

She sits down in front of her new desk, flicking her ponytail as she runs her hand along its surface and looks back at me with her widest smile.

"Here you've done surprised me again and . . . I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"Understandable."

"– But not acceptable; I made an assumption and it was wrong and for that I'm truly sorry. Care to walk a lady upstairs?"

Walking up our 'new' stairs is odd indeed. They are exactly the same, of course, yet they feel different. The sense of our space has been completely altered, with a view into our larger living area and also partially the kitchen. We stop and admire the perspective and as much as I realise they are just stairs, I get the distinct feeling that they may take us somewhere new.

"So, Martin, you weren't the only one who'd had a chat with Al, you know. He had another job on his list that I'd asked him to do for us, if there was time. When I spoke with Morwenna earlier she said he'd finished it up this morning and that it could handle even James hanging off of it if need be."

"What . . . has James Henry got to do with it?"

I don't like the sound of that as Louisa pulls us along through our bedroom and into the bathroom.

"Oh Martin, that does look good, I'm thrilled with it. A proper shower – finally. Can't wait to hop in, what do you think?"

By the looks of it, Al has installed a full tub shower kit, which includes both the curtain enclosure ring and the shower rod riser. It has been mounted both to the wall and the ceiling and appears of high quality and does indeed look sturdy enough to support James, should he pull on the curtain.

"Good choice, Louisa, it looks rather sturdy and properly installed. I'm glad you thought of it – it's a great improvement and a useful upgrade."

"Well, I made sure to shop for a good brass construction one, with an extra tall riser for you, and I picked out clear shower curtains so to not block the light from the window. Also, now you won't have to put up with me whingeing on about my hair and not being able to rinse properly – no more dandruff. 'Course this means that if you can't find me I'll likely be in the bath enjoying a proper hands-free shower, maybe for hours on end – so get used to your wife looking like a prune!"

"Rhytides. Which, when appearing after prolonged exposure to water, are most commonly seen on fingers and toes. Likely due to vasoconstriction, caused by an electrolyte imbalance further influencing the nervous system, which then decreases the fluid level in the skin – outwardly taking on the appearance of being wrinkled."

"Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you very much."

XxXxX

My morning had proved to be a parade of villagers wanting to share their combined knowledge of Portwenn architectural standards and insights, and I was about to go hide in the kitchen for a minute, to start preparing lunch, when Morwenna came barging through my door.

"Doc, that was Ms. Woodley from the school on the phone just now and she said Mrs. Ellingham isn't looking so well and that maybe you best come get her in your car before she tries something stupid – like poppin' on over for lunch or what not."

"Right. Cancel the rest of my appointments this afternoon if you would Morwenna, then you can go home. You'll get your regular hours, of course."

"Alright, you got it, Doc. Well then, get goin' why don't you, Ms. Woodley sounded none too pleased with your missus, called her stubborn even."

I barely miss Mrs. Tishell outside the chemist's, rearranging a display and entering right into my path, waving maniacally as I drive by. Pulling into the school seems like a temporary safe port, despite my reason for being here . . . I worry Louisa is overdoing it again, and stubbornness seems a common symptom.

"– No, I said I'm fine Martin, I'll be fine! Just . . . give me a minute."

"Louisa, you are clearly not 'fine', your face is ashen for God's sake. We are going home, where I will check you over. You were planning to come home for lunch, where you not?"

"Well, yes, but . . ."

"That's settled then."

I want Louisa to get some food into her system right away, and as she is light-headed and pale. I help her to a kitchen chair before bringing her a chocolate digestive – this being one of the few occasions where I can vouch for its existence. Steeping a ginger root, I'm pulling out the honey jar, when Louisa comes flying past me promptly spewing vomitus into the kitchen sink.

"Oh God, you're bleeding!"

"I'm sorry Martin, I . . ."

"How long have you been feeling like this, how long?"

"What?"

"Your vomitus has the appearance of coffee grounds, which means there is blood in your abdomen. It's a mixture of dark and bright, which suggests it has been there a while yet is still actively bleeding. How long have you been feeling faint?"

"Uhm, not that long really. I felt fine last night I think."

"Last night? And this morning?"

"Well, maybe a bit out of sorts, but I figured with my, you know . . . weird period and all."

"Why didn't you tell me? What _haven't_ you told me? Did something happen yesterday, anything at all you can think of that could have caused a bleed into the stomach?"

"No, not really. Well . . . possibly."

"What? When? This is important, Louisa. The warfarin makes you susceptible to bleeding from injuries that may otherwise seem trivial."

"Oh . . ."

"What happened, Louisa?"

"I . . . we were playing, and I kind of got kicked."

"Kicked? Who kicked you, where?"

"Well, James of course. Yesterday morning – we were playing on the bed and I was tickling his feet when he got me good in the ribs. He didn't mean to Martin, honestly."

"Of course not. Where? Show me."

Per Louisa's indications, this could very well be a splenic or hepatic contusion resulting in a slow bleed, and the implications of that makes my stomach turn to ice.

"Louisa, I need you to get on the couch in the surgery for me so that I can properly palpate your abdomen. Then I will give you an injection of vitamin K and we will head straight for Truro, okay?"

"What, now? Why? What's going on, Martin?"

"I believe the impact from James' foot may have caused you to suffer a bruised liver, possibly a small tear, causing blood-tainted fluids to seep into your abdomen. And with your warfarin therapy the injury is likely to be disproportionally severe and not able to heal properly, as it normally would have."

"Martin?"

"The vitamin K will counteract the warfarin and start promoting clotting and once in Truro a CT scan should be able to tell us exactly what we are dealing with and whether you will need a laparotomy or if observation and self-healing is likely."

"Laparotomy?"

"Surgical intervention. Hopefully that will not be necessary, but the quicker we can get you to Truro, the better, okay? Are you okay?"

"Yes . . . yes, I'm okay."

"Good."

I am trying to stay calm and in control for Louisa's sake, but I am anything but. Not only can this turn into a potentially life-threatening situation, but again it is as if my actions caused this – directly and indirectly. If I had not been an idiot two months ago and beyond, Sports Day would never have turned out the way it had and Louisa would not have been taking warfarin to begin with . . . I might as well have kicked her to the pavement myself. Then yesterday morning I had handed her James while she was still sleepy and not truly alert and had then left them alone to go start my day, thinking that all was well in my world. And this time my own son had kicked her good and proper in the stomach while I was in the shower none the wiser. I should have known better; he had been kicky with me as well the day before.

Looking at my wife stretched out in front of me on my surgery couch, I realise that this is _not_ my fault, and that it isn't her fault, or James Henry's fault for that matter. I also know very well that Louisa would be the first to attempt to knock those facts through my thick skull. Unfortunately that doesn't make these thoughts any less agonising, or valid, in my mind.

The injustice of this world has returned with a vengeance, and this time all I feel is . . . powerless.


	7. Backwards

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Seven – ''Backwards" **

Martin was trying so hard to be calm and to explain to me what was going on, but I could see concern written all over his face – in his set features and by the look in his eyes . . . his eyes always give him away.

He'd placed a cannula on the inside of my left arm and hooked me up to a bag of fluids, then jabbed the cannula with the vitamin K that's supposed to clot my blood. And I'd about passed out when he pushed on my stomach where James had kicked me yesterday. Something's clearly not right in there. . . . I felt so incredibly tired, both physically and mentally – things were finally looking up, and now this.

We were practically flying across the moor, and if the day had gone as it should've, we'd have been at home now enjoying a warm lunch, then coming this way in a few hours time on our way to see Dr. A. Instead, the cool fluid entering my arm from the bag hanging next to my head in the Lexus was making me shivery and nauseated and I wanted to stop the movement for a minute. I just needed the car to stop. . . .

"You reckon we'll we have time to pick up James' safety gates? The shop will be right on the way in a few and he needs to have them – you could pop in and I'll wait in the car."

"What? No of course not."

"Oh . . ."

I could hear him sighing deeply before peering over at me.

"Louisa are you alright, how are you feeling?"

"Mm, cold and tired Martin, just very tired."

After touching the back of his hand to my forehead he turned up the cabin heat and fished something out of his pocket.

"Your're clammy. Do you think you could keep this down, even just a little bit of it?"

He handed me one of James' organic fruit juice pouches, 'Apple and Pear'.

"Mm, maybe. I'll give it a try."

On his mobile off and on since we'd left the village, barking orders at whomever was on the other end, he'd been interrupted only by the black spots that were abundant out here. I'd determined he had to be talking with staff and other doctors at the hospital in Truro, by all the medical jargon flying over my head, and for once I didn't mind his authority as there seemed to be an awful lot of tests and things that needed to be lined up for me and I certainly was in no shape to tend to any of it.

I thought back to that fateful Sports Day and how hurt and scared Martin had looked as the ambulance doors shut him off from my care and left him behind, per _my_ orders – left him standing there all alone. Now I couldn't imagine him not being here with me and looking after me, and I don't know who has changed more to make that the case, or if we have simply evolved together. With Dr A.'s help we've made a fair bit of progress and last week we'd cleared some hurdles – today should have been our first day looking 'backwards' so to speak, but it wasn't to be. In either case I am grateful he's here, as I'm really starting to feel like I'm slipping a bit. . . .

_'Louisa, Martin – good to see you again. As you know I was extremely encouraged last week to learn that you had experienced a bit of a breakthrough as to your ability to confide in each other. Finding consolation in one another rather than opting for isolation and retreat is a big step forwards and you are going to be needing that ability to support and rely on the other even more as we move along. Which brings me to this week and beyond'._

_We've been meeting with Dr. A. for over a month now and I really feel like we've settled into a routine with her that feels familiar. Mondays Martin and I go together for a session at five o'clock, which the last couple of weeks has meant he either picks me up at the school or we leave shortly after I get back. Surgery now closes at four o'clock on Mondays and Wednesdays, but opens at eight. Wednesdays Martin has his session and I've been going myself most Thursdays, when the surgery now has late hours until seven and my having the Lexus then really isn't a problem. I also grab James on the way home after, as do we on Mondays, which has kept him with his normal bedtime routine. So far the new surgery hours have also been quite popular with the villagers and we may opt to keep it this way, even after . . . _

_'Louisa?' _

_Martin was looking right at me, as was Dr. A., and it was obvious that I was expected to comment on something or other._

_'Uhm, yes? Sorry, I . . . wool-gathering. What'd I miss?'_

_'What did _we_ miss, Louisa, if you feel comfortable sharing with us that is?'_

_Dr. A. looked at me with a somewhat bemused expression, making it clear that my offence had not been perceived as rude behaviour, though I did feel a bit ashamed._

_'Oh. Well, truth be told I was reflecting on our visits with you so far and how I – we, feel safe coming here, and . . . . And just now I also realised to what extent Martin has gone to make this happen; to improve upon our relationship. What with the changes he's made to his surgery hours, including closing up shop for us to lunch together everyday and I . . . I'm very grateful for that.'_

_'And I am very glad to hear that, although Martin is the one you should be thanking, wouldn't you agree?'_

_'Well – yes.'_

_I put my hand on his left knee and turned to look at him._

_'I am, you know, Martin. Grateful, that is and . . . sometimes I wonder what exactly it is that _ I'm_ doing, what it is that _I'm_ contributing, to make things better for us – to better myself.'_

_'Louisa, no. I, you . . . _I'm_ the one who should be improving, you're not to – '_

_' – May I interrupt you there, Martin?'_

_Martin looked back at Dr. A. in acknowledgement, but also appeared flustered with losing his train of thought._

_'Can you see that Louisa may have a valid point?'_

_'No.'_

_'You don't think that you may _both_ benefit from bettering yourselves, as individuals and as spouses? As parents? How could your son benefit, you think?'_

_' – What does James Henry have to do with this, Louisa is a wonderful mother!'_

_This current tactic was not going well, Martin is fiercely protective of his son – and me, and I got concerned as to where this may lead._

_'Martin, calm down – please.'_

_I tried to reach for his knee again but he abruptly got up and strode across to the window seat. It felt as if Dr. A.'s otherwise cosy home office was closing in on us and I feared he would storm off at any moment. Just then she spoke in her reassuring voice, grounding me as she looked right at me and focussed my thoughts to the matter in hand._

_'Louisa, what I had asked you and Martin earlier, when your mind was wandering, was whether you feel that you are ready now to start revisiting your pasts, primarily your childhoods, in more depth – both of you. Like I have expressed to you on previous occasions, I strongly believe that the only way forwards for you both is going backwards. And I feel very confident at this point in time that you are ready for this next step; that you are ready to lean on each other when things get difficult. And they will get difficult . . . as I think is becoming quite evident.'_

_She looked over at Martin whose clenched fists behind his beck betrayed him._

_'However, and this is of great importance – I cannot, and will not, attempt to make you do anything that you yourselves do not feel ready for. Know that you have my full support and that I will be with you every step of the way, but that it is totally up to you what direction we go from here.'_

_Taking in Martin's rigid stance, clad in his immaculate dark suit while standing there stoically facing the soft light filtering through the panes, the contrast was severe. Glancing back at Dr. A. apologetically, an unspoken agreement was reached._

_'Well, I must go fetch the literature I brought for you from my Truro office, as promised last week. It got put down on the kitchen table when arriving home this evening, but unfortunately made it no further. Give me a few minutes for the kettle as well, if you would . . . my apologies, no receptionist here at home I'm afraid.'_

_As soon as she'd stepped out I walked over to Martin and hugged myself against his back as close as I could. The feel of his knotted hands digging into my stomach just made me squeeze him harder – if only I could transfer one tenth of the pain he seemed to be burdened with, then maybe he could catch his breath long enough to let me in? _

_'She wasn't criticising us, Martin, nor our parenting skills, you understand that, right?'_

_'James should not be part of this, none of this is his fault.'_

_'And nobody is saying that it is anybody's fault, Martin. But James is very much a part of us, though, isn't he? And well, I for one want to better myself to be a great mum to him and to learn to be there for you in a way which . . . currently I seem to be failing at.'_

_He turned around abruptly, grabbed my upper arms and sat us down on the window seat more forcefully than I think he had intended to._

_'Louisa, you . . .'_

_Suddenly, with a look of sheer panic, he let go of my arms and instead reached for my hand._

_'Louisa, you must understand – I _need_ you to understand, that this is not about you, this is about me and . . . I don't want you to change, you don't need to change. Please don't.'_

_'You are right, Martin, this isn't about me, it is about us, our family. And I don't want us to change neither; you nor me, really I don't. What I want us to work towards, what we both agreed that we needed to work on, were the everyday things in our life, remember? Things, circumstances if you will and how we deal with them, can be changed and improved upon, can they not? They already have done and I'm unbelievably proud of us for that.'_

_I brought his hand to my check and hugged him._

_'For what it's worth, I think our progress is the reason Dr. A. suggested we are ready to uncover some of the things that have made us who we are, good and bad. By learning more about ourselves, and what makes us behave the way we do in life and around one another, which you've got to admit isn't always pretty . . . we can and will grow, as a family.'_

_'Mm.'_

_'Knowledge is power, Martin, and I feel it will make us stronger and healthier in the end, I really do. Can you see my point now – do you understand how we are both working towards the exact same goal, but that we need to get there together?'_

_'You make that sound so simple.'_

_'No, it won't be easy, but then it never has been for us, has it?'_

_'Knowledge _is_ power, Louisa, but what if you don't like what we find, have you ever considered that, hm? I can tell you that have – and do, constantly. What if I end up losing you both again when the truth is uncovered, then what? I can't be without the two of you. I don't _know_ what I'm going to find, Louisa, but from what I _do_ remember it certainly isn't going to _better_ me.'_

_'Oh Martin, no. Is that was this is all about, is that what you really fear – that I will be judging you?'_

_'Well, seems to be what most people do.'_

_'No, Martin . . . no, and I'm not 'most people', now am I? But I _am_ very sorry for having run off before, that is something that I'm still having a struggle coming to terms with and if I could undo the consequences of that decision I would do in a heartbeat. Our family is the most important thing that I have in my life and I don't believe any of us can do without.'_

_I take the opportunity to sneak a chaste kiss on his lips while Dr. A. is still out._

_'Martin, do you see me as inferior and deficient because my mum up and left me and I practically had to raise myself?'_

_'What, no of course not – you are probably the strongest person I know.'_

_I smile at that; my husband can say the sweetest things without the slightest inkling of having done so, which I've come to appreciate as the most honest compliments 'round. _

_'But can you see that with her actions, mum probably taught _me_ to run as well and that my finally having made that connection has allowed _me_ to feel less inferior about myself? I've come to realise _why_ I may have done what I did, which was to act on instinct really. I have gained some understanding of my behaviour, rather than just beating myself up about it and accepting that I'm a straight up bad person.'_

_'You are _not_ a bad person, Louisa.'_

_'Oh I don't know, Martin . . . I felt every bit the bad person when I was alone and pregnant in London – I'd run from you, but didn't at the time really understand why, which made it all even worse. Not understanding it didn't excuse my behaviour, but it does give us some meaningful insight after the fact and shows that we can maybe learn a thing or two from our pasts. Makes us perhaps a little less likely to blame ourselves and each other for everything we're struggling with, yeah?'_

_Brushing an imagined tear from his face, I looked him in the eye to emphasise what I really needed for him to understand._

_'It's _not_ all our fault, you know. We make choices based on our instincts; ingrained behaviours, and what we think we know to be true, but if those instincts are flawed, well then so will be our decisions, am I right?'_

_'Mm. Logically I understand what you are intuiting, Louisa, I am just concerned that it may backfire is all. If it were to the cost would simply be too great to bear. However, I will do whatever it takes, and if you are willing to take that chance. . . .'_

_'Martin, y_ou_ are also the strongest person that _I_ know. We _will_ get through this – trust me, okay?'_

_'Yes.'_

_His eyes went to the floor and he looked so spent. Taking his hand I walked us back over to our chairs and took his face in my hands._

_'You and I will get through this because, even when all else seems out of sorts and emotions run high, we still _love_ each other very much – not once have I ever doubted that, Martin, not ever. And because of that we also have a beautiful little boy at home in Portwenn who loves us both unconditionally, and who will always need us to be there for him.'_

_'Yes. Once Dr. Arscott comes back you can tell her that we are ready to delve into the past, if you really believe so, but then I would like for us to go home. I need for us to go get James and then I want us all to go home.'_

_'Good, thank you Martin. And I'd like that – let's go get James and go home.'_

". . . but I you need to wake up. I know you feel tired and unwell, but you need to stay with me, Louisa. We are almost to Truro so I need you to wake up. Louisa . . . can you hear me? Louisa? God, LOUISA!"


	8. The Road Twice Travelled

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series.  
><em>

_Thanks to everybody who has stuck with me so far and I hope you are enjoying this tale which is just starting to take shape, bonus chapter on this December Sunday. Things are never quite as they seem, as we are about to find out! Your reviews make me smile and are always appreciated, happy reading, - DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Eight – ''The Road Twice Travelled"**

". . . but I you need to wake up. I know you feel tired and unwell, but you need to stay with me, Louisa. We are almost to Truro so I need you to wake up. Louisa . . . can you hear me? Louisa? God, LOUISA!"

"Wha' . . . we home? Wherr . . . wha's goin' on, where's James? Thought we'd be pickin'im up?"

"James is fine, he's with the minder. You fell asleep and I couldn't wake you. We're almost to Truro, you are not well and you need to stay with me, to stay awake, okay? You have a slow bleed, most likely from your liver and we are taking you to hospital. Can you try again with some of James' juice, you need the fructose. I don't want to give you any food until we can pinpoint exactly what is going on after you've had your CT scan and the vitamin K has kicked in, but you haven't had any lunch and probably didn't eat breakfast this morning either, did you?'

"Mmm'no . . . stomach hurt, _hurts_. Hurts when I breathe."

"Yes, your diaphragm is pulling down on the damaged tissues of liver when you inhale, causing you pain. Can you try a little bit of the juice under your tongue, you don't have to swallow it if you think it'll make you feel sick."

She was managing the spout on the fruit juice with ease and also did well consuming a good bit of its contents; both equally important to me at this point, proving that she is still fairly lucid, if in a somewhat diminished capacity. Pulling into the ED at the Royal Cornwall Hospital feels like history repeating itself, with a team waiting for us at the doors per my instructions. This time, however, I am confident with the surgeon on call, should his services be required, as I had personally assisted Chris with his appointment after the dismissal of my former pupil Adrian Pitts.

"Patient is Louisa Ellingham, a 39-year-old female presenting with abdominal pain and general malaise, approximately 30 hours post blunt trauma to the right upper quadrant. Palpation and percussion elicited a moderate to severe pain response, which paired with the haematemesis appears suggestive of hepatic contusion with minor rupture or possibly tearing. No organomegaly was observed. Patient has been undergoing warfarin treatment, dosed at five milligrams per day for approximately 60 days, due to a DVT which presented post motor vehicle trauma at which time the patient also underwent a successful AVM embolisation. Current comorbidity includes menorraghia_, _while haematemesis at 1230 hours suggested a slow but active bleed. Melaena has not yet been established. Five milligrams of IV phytonadione was administered intravenously between 1235 and 1245 hours at which point INR was measured at 3.0 An additional five milligrams IV phytonadione in 500 millilitres of normal saline was administered over the past 50 minutes while in transport."

Technically Louisa is not my patient while under the care of the trauma team, but as I have limited privileges and a certain reputation at this hospital, staff wisely cooperate when the patient also happens to share my surname. I help my wife into her hospital gown to prepare her for the CT scan.

"Louisa, are you wearing any jewellery other than your rings and your watch?"

"Uhm, no . . . I don't think so. Can I keep my wedding ring?"

"No, any kind of metal can disrupt the scan."

"Oh . . . well, can you keep it with you until I can have it back then. Please."

"Mm. Try to relax and remain still during the scan, we can hear you if you have any problems and I will be right on the other side of the windows observing the scan, okay."

"Right. Martin? Will I be . . . alright?"

"I've chased up the best care available, and yes – I will make sure of it."

I am rewarded with a tired smile. Gently positioning Louisa on the scanner bed I rest my hand briefly on her pale cheek before joining the radiographer in the adjoining room, anxious as to what the images may reveal. While the nurse is preparing the cannula to receive the contrast bolus, I can hear the usual questions being repeated once more, lastly 'Is there any chance that you may be pregnant?' Louisa briefly catches my eye, then just as quickly looks away – her smile now strained as she closes her eyes and shakes her head. The dimming lights reveal the red laser guides and as the nurse turns away to place a pillow under Louisa's knees, I can see my wife's cannula-free hand wiping at her eyes and a completely different wave of anxiety rolls over me.

We've never discussed the possibility of more children, we have James. Is this something which needs to be clarified and, if so what are my thoughts regarding this matter? Can I _consciously_ make a decision to become a father? Or _not _to, which may very well be the case.

_Should I?_

"Spleen is unremarkable, Dr. Ellingham, which is a very lucky find – a good start."

The radiologist's words bring me back to the scan currently taking place on the other side of the glass and I refocus my thoughts on the computer screen.

"And the liver?"

"We are just getting to that. Aetiology?"

"Blunt trauma. Uhm, our son accidentally kicked her in the abdomen while they were playing and with the warfarin in her system. . . ."

"I see. Okay, well it looks like your hunch is spot on. Subcapsular haematoma with a superficial rupture measuring at 16 millimetres, I'd classify it as a borderline grade II. Slight pooling is indicative of a slow bleed, however she presents haemodynamically stable and I feel confident that this 'leak', as such, will resolve itself in six to eight hours when the vitamin K has had a chance to make some headway. We are of course awaiting the results of the pending blood tests, however _any_ surgical intervention, even angiographic embolisation, would be discouraged until the clotting factors stabilise. Non-operative management under close observation would of course be the standard recommendation in cases where the coagulation factor is _not_ in question, but I'd say also in this case as long as she remains stable. Do you concur?"

"Yes, that seems as favourable as I could have hoped for, given the circumstances."

"Good, I'm glad we agree. Oh, but wait, hang on just a minute. Hmm, odd. See this, right . . . there? I can just barely visualise an abnormality here. This cluster is almost certainly granulomatous, possibly vaguely developed nodules – there, can you see it? I am not seeing any evidence of fibrosis, calcifications, bilomas or abscesses, and definitely not related to this aetiology, but a biopsy with a histological profile will be necessary to give us a better idea of what exactly we are dealing with here."

I can feel myself becoming increasingly tense, needing to get out of here. There is nothing I can do but listen to other people tell me what may or may not be wrong with Louisa, and I don't like it.

"Liver enzyme values are expected to be elevated for some time, of course, so standard blood panels are not likely to tell us much in this instance. I expect the gastroenterologist will order up a few more specialised tests such as AMAs, ANAs and so forth. He may also feel that a plugged liver biopsy later this evening could be a valid option, if the INR and patient stability permits. The department will have my patient notes as soon as we are done here. Has your wife ever had any indicies of liver disease previously? Any family history of illness?"

"No, not that I . . . am aware of. The last few years' blood chemistry panels indicated only slight anaemia, which has been consistent and is being managed. Everything else has been unremarkable, including the liver values."

"Well, it is too early to speculate and whatever we are seeing here looks to be in the early stages. I do, however, like to identify a silver lining whenever one is present, Dr. Ellingham, and I will have to say that your son's exuberance may have been exceptionally well-timed in bringing this to our attention _now_, rather than at some future point in time when symptomatology would have been the alerting factor."

After discussing our various options within the expanding medical team, it is agreed upon that non-operative management is preferable and Louisa will remain under close supervision. A nasogastric tube will be placed to monitor levels of blood and fluids in the stomach. She will receive pain medications and light sedation to keep her comfortable and a CT scan will be repeated in six hours as long as she remains in stable condition. I decide not to burden her with our latest discovery at this time. The additional blood tests ordered should give us a better understanding of what is going on prior to the next scheduled scan and I will discuss it with her then – currently rest is a priority.

XxXxX

In light of the additional and unexpected CT scan findings, the 90-minute drive north-east gives me ample time to conjure up a number of horrible diseases and illnesses that may have befallen Louisa, causing my mood to darken proportionately. And the fact that patient records that should have been available to me for all of Portwenn's villagers; past and present, are highly unreliable due to Bert's flooding of the surgery my very first week there – now necessitating this excursion in the first place, is unacceptable. The Glasson records had been mostly destroyed but for Louisa's, which I had come across and pulled out while looking for that surfer boy's files, shortly after our pirate encounter during the 'Lifeboat Fun Day' festivities.

Years later, Eleanor's emergency hernia surgery in my consulting room had given me a chance to satisfactorily reassemble her patient history afterwards, but as for Terry Glasson the medical slate is blank. Our only close interaction, medical or otherwise, had been my removal of a knife from his arm shortly after it had been placed there by his psychotic friend which, unfortunately involved holding Louisa, Pauline and myself hostage at the surgery. This would also have been the last time either of us had experienced the 'pleasure' of Terry Glasson's company – until now.

The towering granite walls of Dartmoor Prison signify my arrival and I waste no time going through its imposing gates and obtaining the visitor's clearance needed to proceed. I am here for one reason, and one reason only; to obtain Terry Glasson's medical records and as much medical family history as he can recall.

"Old Doc Sim's replacement, Martin was it? To what do I owe this pleasure? It's been . . . what, four years?"

"I need you to sign a medical records release form – now, so that I can access your records. I also need you to tell me of any and all family medical issues you may be aware of, both for yourself and other family members."

"Oh I see, is that all then? May I ask why the sudden interest in my well-being and why I should even consider your 'request', doctor?"

"I am not the least bit interested in your health, however the well-being of your daughter should at least be of some interest to you."

"Louisa? Is something the matter with my daughter, she hasn't phoned me?"

"Nor would she have, Mr. Glasson. Now, I need you to sign at the bottom of all three pages and initial at the top, right . . . there and there."

"Now hang on a minute, Doc, what is going on with Louisa to warrant the village doctor making a special errand all 'way out here? I'm not signing a page one until you tell me what's the matter with my daughter. I love Louisa and I worry about her all of the time."

I have learned from Louisa that he hadn't worried enough to return so much as a word to any of the Christmas and Birthday cards she had posted the first couple of years he had been incarcerated this time around, which had cemented my initial observation of the man as highly disagreeable. It had, however, unnecessarily upset Louisa for a long time and fuelled her insecurities at a time when she had felt she had nobody else to turn to, which is unfortunate.

"So you say. Louisa recently suffered a minor incident which caused some temporary damage to her liver. She is currently in hospital and during some diagnostic tests findings were made that may suggest she is also suffering from an unrelated medical condition that could quite possibly be genetic, in other words inherited – passed down through families. At this point I am simply trying to _rule this out_, and I expect your timely cooperation. Am I making myself clear, Mr. Glasson?"

In all fairness he looks gobsmacked, but I have no time for this, nor am I in the mood.

"Is that CLEAR, Mr. Glasson?"

He signs the papers without looking or even reading a single line.

"What can I do? Can I give blood? Can I give her my liver? What can I do doctor?"

"You can not live without your liver, but there is a living donor program where, if your health permits and your blood group matches that of the recipient, you can donate a small part of your liver. However, the liver is an excellent organ at regenerating itself. For this reason I am, like I said, primarily trying to rule out any hereditary liver disease from your side of the family. Louisa's liver may just heal up perfectly fine on its own, but I am not leaving anything to chance."

"What about the blood, Doc?"

"The blood, what about it?"

"Well, can I give her some if she needs some? I'm a B group, I think . . . at least they told me that when I had a little run-in with some fellas once and needed some of the red stuff myself."

"Well, then no – you can not give her your blood, nor your organs, as you are not a suitable match. Do you know of any illnesses that run in your family, liver or otherwise, Mr. Glasson?"

That sealed any kind of familial donor options, should they ever be called for. Eleanor's blood group is A, as is mine, and Terry likely a B. Louisa is an O, the universal donor, which seems fitting somehow, but as such she can also only receive blood and organs from other O group donors.

"What about Ellie, Louisa's mum?"

"She is not a match either I'm a afraid."

"You then, if you are willing?"

"I am more than willing, but no."

"Why, doctor?"

"Why? My blood group doesn't match, unfortunately."

"No, why would you be willing? Do you donate to _all_ your patients, Martin?"

I do not want to get into this with him, hadn't wanted to and didn't plan for it. I was to be in and out of here, no idle chit-chat.

"Again, Mr. Glasson, do you know of any illnesses that run in your family, liver or otherwise?"

I want to go pick up his records from the Prison Healthcare Manager then be on my way. I had phoned Mrs. Newton on my way here and she had agreed to keep James for as long as was needed, even overnight if that became an issue. But I want to get back to Louisa – to Truro, even if she is still sleeping, which I hope is the case.

"MR. GLASSON?"

"No, no, not . . . that I know of. What if . . . what if there was another option?"

"What do you mean another option?"

"What if, if . . . there was somebody else?"


	9. Two Roads Diverged

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Nine – ''Two Roads Diverged"**

"Again, Mr. Glasson, do you know of any illnesses that run in your family, liver or otherwise?"

. . .

"MR. GLASSON?"

"No, no, not . . . that I know of. What if . . . what if there was another option?"

"What do you mean another option?"

"What if, if . . . there was somebody else?"

"Yes, if need be she _will_ be placed on a donor list, where there will be somebody else – eventually. However, when time is of the essence a pre-screened family member is often preferred if hereditary issues can be ruled out. I am simply attempting to prepare for a worst-case scenario, Mr. Glasson."

"No, not some stranger off of a list. I mean, what if I told you that . . . that Louisa has a sister?"

_God, what is it with these people?_

"Well, then I would tell you that I am not all that surprised, Mr. Glasson. I never got the impression that your marriage had been a particularly solid one, and based on the eventual outcome and what I have been told, it would not be that uncommon for you to have procreated again at a later time . . or at that time."

"Well, she does. Have a sister, I mean. 'Least I think she still does . . . ."

"I see. Does Louisa know?"

"No, she doesn't know and . . . I never strayed while I was with Ellie, not once I'll have you know."

"Right, so how much younger is this sister then, if I may ask?"

"No, Doc, you don't understand. Louisa . . . Louisa has a _twin_ sister."

"WHAT?"

My heart is pounding and a million questions are rushing through my mind.

"And you have not _told_ her this?"

"No."

"And were you _planning_ on ever telling her this?"

"I . . . I don't know, I _don't know_. And I don't know where she is, she's . . . my brother raised her as his own, that's all I know. I haven't seen her or my brother since that fateful day."

"When? When did you last see them, where?"

"I just . . . I stood there looking at my two girls through the big hospital window just one look; just one last farewell glimpse you know, when . . . when Louisa suddenly started crying. She cried and cried and my natural instinct was to go through and pick her up. I couldn't just leave her like that, Doc, she was so tiny – when somebody cries you give'em a cuddle . . . and that was it for us. I'd held her and I'd felt her heartbeat next to mine and her eyes – those beautiful eyes had looked up at me without a worry one. I was in love."

_I knew that feeling. _

"Ellie and I, you know, we were young and hadn't planned to be pregnant, it just sort of happened, and . . . and well, we certainly didn't know we'd made _two_ of'em, now did we? We'd got married to try to make it right, but she was sick a lot with the baby and all that and couldn't work none, and we had no money for taking care of a wee one. My brother held a solid job with the military up North somewhere and was settled with a wife and a nice gaff and all, you know, just no little'uns . . . it just didn't seem to happen for them, whereas Ellie and I . . . Anyways, Ben had bailed me outta trouble a few times over the years after I dropped out of the military, so I knew he'd do it again and this time I'd felt that for once I'd be doing a bit of good, something decent – the right thing. I knew the baby would have a better life with Ben."

"So you decided to _separate_ them, you thought that was the right thing to do – your brother and his wife thought this was okay? And Eleanor agreed to this?"

"Now, that's when things started to fall apart for us, Doc. You see, it was all working out for the best until that very last day in the hospital, when Louisa started to cry. I couldn't do it after that, I just couldn't let her go. Ben was furious, said he'd call the Social on us, at which point I'd told him he had no rights and if he wanted a family of his own he'd have to do with _one_ of my girls. Ellie had yet to look at either one of them, as she couldn't handle it knowing we were giving them up, but I'd held Louisa. . . ."

On one level I can glean some sense of comprehension. After I had first held James I knew my life had changed, if not exactly the full extent of the changes to come. What I simply can _not_ fathom is how a father could choose one out of his two children. That is beyond me.

"Two separate families were formed that day, Martin, in Treliske Hospital car park – travelling in different directions never to speak again."

_The injustice of this world looms over us all, or so it appears. . . ._

"Ellie's always been a free spirit, you know, and she'd never done planned on being a mum. I think being pregnant and sick for eight months broke her in a way. She went from being a carefree teenager to a married mum-to-be. First she was set to give up her baby, then unexpectedly giving birth to twins, only to bring one home after all because I'd changed my mind. I think it was all too much for her, she could never settle down after that. Ellie loved Louisa very much, Doc, but she never could settle. . . . Till this day I don't know if she was running from her conscience or from her responsibilities. We had nothing, really; no money, no family to lean on, but we had Louisa – my wee warrior. She chose us, and I have never regretted it once since that day."

A migraine is forming behind my right eye and I need to get back to Louisa before the second scan. I had come here in hopes of ruling out family history as the cause of Louisa's hepatic granulomas, instead I had gained her a sibling; a twin sister. . . .

"Where they monozygotic or dizygotic?"

"'They what now?"

"Where they – _are_ they, identical twins?"

"That I don't know, Doc, they were babies . . . looked like babies."

"Right." I inhale deeply and close my eyes for a second of reprieve.

"Look, Doc, I know this is a lot to digest on a rainy day. Other than yourself and the involved parties – adults, not a livin' soul knows about this. I don't know that I truly understand myself how it all came about the way that it did do, but it's how it all worked out back then. Maybe if you had kids of your own you'd understand how there wasn't no way I would let Louisa go after having connected with her like that. I just couldn't."

"Mm, I've got to go. I will . . . be in touch regarding Louisa."

Waiting on Terry Glasson's medical records to be duplicated after handing over the signed consent forms, I step into the lavatory before phoning the hospital. Louisa is still asleep and stable which is good, the CT scan in three hours will hopefully confirm that we're on the right track. After quickly perusing the copy I had obtained of the 'Complete Medical Records of – _#DRO0507-G510104_ _Terry Winston Glasson_', nothing appears remarkable, nothing at all. Despite years of heavy partaking, even his liver values are within the normal range.

_Whereas my Louisa is struggling . . . _

I find myself with a heavy foot on my drive back to Truro, a careless habit of mine that surfaces when too many things are vying for my attention, fortunately I guide the Lexus back to the hospital in one piece and in record time. Trying to process this day is proving agonising and the last few hours simply incomprehensible. Briefly I consider phoning Dr. Arscott, but dismiss that thought when realising Louisa should have been privy to this information for 39 years and deserves better. My migraine has firmly seated itself and I jump as the lift signals my arrival at the ward. Instantly back in the present I focus on what the next few hours may show as I make my way down the corridor.

All I know at this moment is that I need to see Louisa – the past will have to wait.


	10. Onwards

_'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading.  
><em>

_-My apologies for Real-Life speed bumps slowing things down... -DC_

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Ten – ''Onwards"**

Waking up it feels like something's not right and I start panicking until Martin jumps to his feet and immediately begins reassuring me. Once again I'm grateful he's here with me.

"Louisa? You are fine, don't try to speak. You have a tube placed in your oesophagus and won't be able to speak or swallow. Can you hear me, do you understand?"

I nod dumbly, the discomfort I'm feeling giving me less of a fright now that I remember what's going on.

"How are you feeling?"

Upon my pointing to the thing in my nose, Martin hits the nurse call button before letting me know I'll likely be able to get the tube removed. As the nurse and a doctor come in after a bit of to and fro, Martin silently steps aside whilst they do their thing, which is very unlike him and he can't seem to take his eyes off me neither. His unusual behaviour stirs up a sense of uneasiness in me which is quickly overtaken by coughing and spluttering as the tube comes out. The nurse gives me some water before stepping out of the room, assured by Martin's presence.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Hm, okay I think – better," _though I certainly don't sound it right now._

"How's James?"

"James is fine, he's . . . spending the night with the Newtons."

"Oh, really? Good. That's good, Martin . . . he'll like that."

I look at my husband whose haggard face, slightly damp hair and splotchy jacket points to a dreary day.

"What time is it Martin, and it's raining?"

"It is a little after seven in the evening and yes, it is drizzling outside."

"Where were you?"

"I was . . . uhm, out – just . . . out."

"Oh. Right, so . . . what's next, then? I mean, other than the toilet. I need to wee, can you disconnect whatever it is that needs to be disconnected, if anything, please, Martin."

"You can take this pole with you, it has your infusion pump, and . . . here, take this container in with you as well. They are going to want a urine sample to gauge your liver and kidney functions. Try to fill it as best you can, don't use your arm with the cannula obviously, and . . . I'm sorry, for all this. We'll talk when you come back out, okay?"

"Yes."

Martin walked me all the way into the lavatory just in case I was still dizzy and he unscrewed the large urine collection cup for me, but then let me have some privacy. I still feel sore where James got me 'course, and now also have a sore throat from that tube thing, but generally I feel better I think. I'm anxious to learn what the test will show as to the bleeding this time 'round and what is next, but I am guessing I am improving or Martin would have been frantic and he seems rather . . . subdued, eerily calm really.

When I got back out he was standing by the end of my hospital bed putting back what I assumed to be my patient files.

"What'd it say?"

"Mostly what we want it to say, which is good."

"Mostly? What'd the rest of it say then? Martin?"

"It didn't."

"What? Martin, stop. You are confusing me and I need you to tell me what is going on, or do I need to call the nurse?"

"What? No, of course not, you . . . "

"You're frightening me!"

"Your scan revealed exactly what I had expected to see considering what had happened and it appears now your bleed has also stopped, which is excellent."

"And?"

"And . . . the scan also revealed some . . . _anomalies_ in your liver that we had not expected to see, abnormalities that have no connection to your current injuries whatsoever."

I'd sat down heavily on my bed at that – _anomalies_. Martin explained to me everything that he knew so far, and how the extra tests ordered on my blood had not come back yet. Approval had been granted for a liver sample it seemed, so that would be done after the second scan later tonight, if those results were good. Then we'd just have to wait and see what the tests will say, probably we will know something in the morning. However, the biopsy results we'll have to wait a few days for.

"So what do you think is wrong with me, Martin and how much longer do you reckon I'll have to stay here?"

He sat down on the bed next to me and looked straight ahead, as if the answers lay somewhere out there.

"I don't know, Louisa, there is no use in speculating. Granulomas can indicate the beginning stage of a vast number of illnesses, or they can remain idiopathic; which means we may never know. They can be chronic; in which case they will be managed, or they can be spontaneous and completely disappear on their own. We simply don't know yet."

"Worst case scenario? Best case scenario?"

"Overly simplified we get you a new liver or the abnormalities go away, respectively."

"Right . . . did the doctor doing the scan say anything?"

"About the granulomas? No, just what I have told you. He did, however, credit James Henry for bringing it to our attention. Whatever the cause, we have caught it very early – which would have been unlikely had events not unfolded as they did."

"A silver lining then?"

"His words exactly."

"That's our boy, Martin – Master diagnostician, just like his Daddy. So . . . which is worse, then; hereditary disease or just 'regular' disease?"

"It doesn't work that way, Louisa, they're not mutually exclusive – diseases come with their own set of behaviours and expressions. The inheritance factor is simply a means of 'transmission', if you will, but can often be utilised as a guiding tool to either confirm or rule out suspected illness."

"Mm, well . . . I don't really know that much about any illnesses mum or dad may have had or _have_, though nothing jumps out at me really – unless parental gambling and abandonment can have a negative affect on one's liver. Doubtful that . . . seems to me a pain in the arse has been the usual outcome. I do know that James, my grandfather, lived to be 93, so he couldn't have been in too poor of a condition, could he?"

"Louisa, I . . . there's something you should know."

"As long as you're not gonna give me any more bad news today, Martin, I'm all ears. I don't think I can take another blow right now, stomach or otherwise. . . ."

"Mm, yes – right. I . . . I need to tell you that I went to see . . ."

He looked at me and then away again. _Odd._

"I mean, you should know that I have, that I . . . went to, went _through_ your parents' medical records. Erm, earlier."

_Definitely acting strange . . . _

"Nothing I saw there was indicative of liver problems on either side, which is good. We will just have to wait until the test results are posted, worrying unnecessarily at this point will not change the outcome. Right now I want the CT scan to confirm that your bleeding has completely stopped, then we go from there."

"Yes. Martin, that sounds good. I do feel better – really, thank you for taking care of me today. I'm grateful and I trust you unconditionally, you know – I don't know what I was thinking last time 'round – I wasn't really. I'm sorry."

"Louisa, that was different. It was different then, _we_ were different."

"Yes we were." I once more take in his haggard appearance and ponder at his behaviour, when I realise it's late and it's been one helluva day.

"Martin, have you eaten anything today?"

"I've had more important things to see to, Louisa."

"Yes you have, but _your_ health is important to _me_ as well, you know. I know it's late for you, but will you promise me that you will pick up something, _anything_, from the canteen before driving home tonight? Please."

"I'm staying here, Chris brought me a set of scrubs and ordered to use them along with the sofa in his office, there are shower facilities available for staff as well. Seemed arguing the point got me nothing but grief."

"Oh, good – that's good, I'm glad you'll be here with me . . . and off the road. You will eat something, then?"

"Yes."

The CT scan and some blood tests had indeed confirmed that my blood had been able to clot now and the slow bleed had resolved itself, which was one step in the right direction. However the local anaesthesia given for my liver biopsy afterwards had made me nauseous and caused me to be sick as soon as I'd got back to my ward. With my sore throat and sore _and_ empty stomach, it had been an extremely unpleasant experience and I could tell Martin was having an even worse time of it. This day, and its uncertainties and discomforts were finally catching up with me and having tired me out mentally and physically the tears came unbidden. I could see a look of despair etched on my husband's face, making me feel even worse about everything.

"Martin, I'm sorry . . . didn't mean to make you feel sick as well, I just couldn't help it. And here I was gonna suggest you go eat something. . . ."

"You haven't made me sick, Louisa, you didn't, I just don't . . . I don't like seeing you like this and it makes me feel helpless, not being able to make you better."

"It's fine Martin, it'll be fine. I'm okay – really, it's just been one helluva day is all and I'm . . . knackered."

I gave him my left hand, palm down, which he looked at with a rather puzzled expression.

"Well, make a girl feel better then?"

"What?"

"My wedding ring?"

"Oh. Uhm, yes, if you insist."

He frantically searched his trousers before remembering he'd put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

". . . I _do_."

"Hmm?" Martin put the ring back on my finger.

"I promise to have and to hold you; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish you, till death us do part."

_I could recite that line in my sleep at this point . . . had been on my mind a time or ten._

He looks at me as if gauging whether or not to lower my pain medication.

"We never did say our vows, you know, I'd even been practising back then . . . but now seemed as good a time as any. I've . . . thought about that a lot lately, actually, Martin, and . . . I just wanted you to hear me say the words. I do mean it, all of it, and I won't stop fighting for us."

His eyes softened some as he looked to me.

"You and me and James, we're family, we're all we've got. Well, and Ruth 'course. Family is important, Martin, and I want to show you what it can be like. I want us to make a whole out of two halves. Neither one of us really know what that means, but we can learn – I believe in us, I do."

"Right, uhm . . . yes, good. And I, _yes_, I do as well – what you just said. And I do love you, Louisa."

"Good. Will you stay with me till I fall asleep, then go eat?"

"I will."

The residual anaesthesia had left me drowsy once I'd got the vomiting out of the way and I could feel myself ebbing fast.

"You know . . . we're kind of a mess, aren't we? But _I_ love you too – no vows and all. And I know that I'm stubborn and one of a kind, though not much of a warrior at the moment I'm afraid. But I'll keep fightin' for us, too right I'll keep on fightin' . . ."

With Martin by my side I could finally close my eyes to all that is unknown, feeling hopeful.

_Tomorrow is another day._

"Night, Martin . . . and I'm lucky for having chosen you."


	11. Roundabout

'Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series*. Reviews are always appreciated, thank you and happy reading. -DC

**Time Travel **

**Chapter Eleven – "Roundabout"**

_One phone call that would change my life._

_One letter that would change her life._

_One husband desperate for help._

_One person I do not know, _

_One I'll come to love._

_Two families._

_Two lives._

_Us._

* * *

><p>. . . I knew the call would come, someday, I had been expecting it. Under which circumstances, or who the person on the other end would turn out to be, well those were the unknowns – until now.<p>

When Dr. Ellingham phoned me at work, his call patched through from the Yorkshire Major Crimes Unit's switchboard to my desk on the second floor, he informed me my father had passed along my contact details which instantly put me on high alert. Nonetheless, Dr. Ellingham's voice conveyed a level of sincerity and desperation that got, and held, my attention throughout our conversation and what he had to say went far beyond anything I could have ever imagined or expected.

A brief introduction is in order. My name is Helen Morton, maiden name of Glasson, and I was born on 21 July, 1971 at the Treliske Hospital in Cornwall. I grew up an only child in a military household with my father, Benjamin Winston Glasson of Harrogate, North Yorkshire, working as a Senior Intelligence Analyst in the RAF at Menwith Hill. My beloved mother, Nell Glasson, passed away when I was 11 years old. Professionally I hold the title of Detective Inspector and these days primarily work murder cases. I am married and the mother of four boys, of which the oldest is 15.

When turning 16, I had initially decided to follow in my father's footsteps and pursue a career in the military. As such, and as an initiation into adulthood, my father handed me my original birth certificate and sat me down, informing me that although he and mother had raised me and loved me as their own, I was indeed the daughter of father's younger brother and his young bride. When I later scrutinised the certificate I noticed it read _T. Winston Glasson_, in barely legible cursive. And although my mother's legal name was Eleanor, she always went by Nell – after whom I was named.

If you are reading this, I suspect Dr. Ellingham has already had this conversation with you, and I predict your next move will be to verify that _your_ birth certificate also reads _T. Wilson Glasson, Eleanor Glasson_ and _Baby Girl Glasson_, and is dated 21 July, 1971 – which I strongly suspect will be the case.

Should you find that you would like to contact me you now have my email address, which is the most reliable way to connect with me, as my my iPad is usually within reach at all times. However, I can appreciate the fact that you may need some time to process this news.

Despite never having been made aware of you, I have had the advantage of over half a lifetime of coming to terms with the fact that all was not quite as it seemed growing up. Yet as it pertains to you I suspect this is _all_ new information. Nevertheless, given these latest developments I would be interested in revisiting the past and pursuing this further, should you agree. If this is something you would rather not consider at this point in your life then I will fully respect that – this is not a position in which we should ever have been placed, nor should being faced with making such a decision ever have been necessary.

Lastly, I am truly sorry that it took such a drastic measure for all this to come to light. When you do feel stronger and in better health I will be looking for possible correspondence from you, until then wishes for a speedy recovery from afar will have to suffice.

Yours Sincerely,

– Helen Morton, Leeds

* * *

><p>It's late as the the train rolls on back towards Leeds and I read and then reread my email, trying to decide on the appropriate salutation to use. 'Mrs. Ellingham' seems so formal, but then I don't know her, and as such 'Louisa' doesn't seem proper either. This type of connection has me completely out of my element, I'm not really . . . good with people.<p>

_She is._

After I had confirmed my medical details, to the best of my ability, which had been the main reason for Dr. Ellingham's phone call, one of the few non-medical facts I learned from our brief conversation is that his wife loves children – people in general. As such he'd cautioned me that once she becomes aware of my existence, she will likely want to meet with me and get to know me and is apt to become 'very emotional', as he'd put it.

I don't do emotional.

However, when he'd expressed how he'd hold off on telling her any of this until she was medically fit enough to deal with the outcome, should I choose _not_ to acknowledge her existence, I had made an uncharacteristic split-second decision as there was simply no need or justification to drag this out.

Despite my own insecurities there would be a letter from me, addressed to his wife, outlining the basics of what we had just discussed. In this letter I'd also reach out to her, sparing her any undue emotional stress in the midst of her current medical ordeal – I felt the least I could do was to take charge of the situation, to deal with this head on by presenting the relevant facts. With the understanding that he would receive my letter in his email within 24 hours, we'd rung off just as Boss had informed me of a major incident out in Bradford.

Really I should have been on my way home at that time, so it would have to be up to Michael to go through the boys' homework again tonight . . . criminals are unpredictable that way. Unfortunately there never seems to be a good time to kill someone.

_'You said what we do here is all about connections. Well, we don't just find them and make sense of them, we also form them occasionally.' _

_. . . _

_'Just be yourself, that's all.'_

Boss having turned my own words against me shortly after I'd transferred from Regional Intelligence, had probably been the best thing that could have happened to me at that point in time. Not fitting in too well, it had pushed me to open up just a little which in turn had paid off and allowed me to feel a bit more like a part of the team from then on. And today has become one of those days when I need to think back on that exchange and remind myself to 'just be myself'.

_And sometimes we all need saving from ourselves. . . . _

So now here I am, on my way back to the office from a messy murder-suicide, wrapping up an email to a person I don't know and didn't know existed only a few hours ago. In trying to visualise a twin sister, my own flesh and blood, I come to realise that this particular person was closer to me at one point in my life than anybody else has ever been since – we're not complete strangers, not really, and this person is also a blood relative of my children, which puts things in perspective.

Placing the cursor at the top of my letter I key in the words 'To My Sister' and quickly hit the send button before swapping my iPad for the iPod and closing my eyes to the music. I often prefer the train to the squad cars, it's faster and the music is better, yet on this occasion all I can hear is the repetitive sound of my own thoughts slowly repeating the words 'My Sister'.

XxXxX

Having saved the email to my 'Personal' folder I print out a copy, folding it neatly and placing it in my coat pocket along with the photocopy I just made of Louisa's birth certificate. Acquiring Ben Glasson's phone number yesterday had come down to a few minutes on the phone with the enquiry service before I had the man in question on the line, fortunately his number had not been ex-directory. Initially tight-lipped, it seemed Terry had been truthful about his brother's anger in regards to having separated the infants some 39 years ago. And once learning of Louisa's current situation and the possibility of hereditary illness playing a part, which could also be affecting _his_ daughter, he had been very forthcoming. Like Terry, however, he could not recall any major illnesses within the family.

Helen Morton. It had been a rather unusual experience speaking with this woman, Louisa's sister, on the telephone while racing across the moors of Devon. The fact that it should have been Louisa's choice if and when that call would have taken place had left me with a sense of betrayal, yet I knew Louisa would understand my reasoning, it being medically related. Despite the odd encounter there had also been a familiarity present which I had not expected and hadn't quite been able to place at the time. This Morton woman had a similar voice to Louisa's, save the Cornish lilt of course, but there was something else there as well, something undefined. Had she sounded . . . driven, was that it? Yes, that fits. They both sound driven in much the same way, which is remarkable given their rather apparent differences in manner. I found Louisa's sister to be quite . . . direct and to the point, straight forward, and I had appreciated that.

Feeling much improved this morning Louisa had insisted I head home to relieve the Newton woman and tend to James, and with impeccable timing Aunt Ruth had phoned me for an update on Louisa just as I was securing a grizzly James into his seat. Deciding lunch would be a better idea Ruth had informed me she would be at the surgery in short order so with James temporarily distracted by the familiar toys in his cot I shower and shave before carefully transferring Louisa's letter and birth certificate to my fresh suit.

As the sound of the kitchen door carries upstairs I am reminded of how our new layout has replaced patient grumbling with the sounds of family. Dressing quickly and grabbing James I head downstairs hoping he still has enough energy to eat something before a much needed nap. For his mother's sake I desperately need him to cooperate today. Finding Aunt Ruth already seated by the kitchen table with an assortment of what looks to be cubed cheese, banana, bread and rice pudding on James' tray, is a welcome sight. There even appears to be a sandwich plate for me and I realise just how hungry I have become.

"Aunt."

"I was thinking I would prepare him a fancy meal, but this will have to do – just got it at the market yesterday, so should be perfectly safe, if not wholly appetising."

"No, that's good . . . uhm, thank you."

Happy with the attention from Ruth James pairs cheese with pudding and starts showing off.

"So, how is she?"

"Better. I'm hoping with continued monitoring here at the surgery she will be home by tomorrow. We'll have to see for now, but being confined to bed in hospital is less than ideal given the prior history, some moving around would be advisable and she'll be more comfortable at home, particularly after I talk to her today."

"Oh, do tell? She may be better but judging by the look on your face I take it all is not well?"

"Look, Aunt . . . can you have James for me this afternoon here at the house, just for a few hours? I need to speak with Louisa, alone, and as soon as possible. Not medically relevant, per say, but it is imperative we talk. I know you said babies aren't your thing, but . . ."

"But we will manage, Martin. I may have established a lack a natural aptitude in that area, but I am not completely helpless and technically he is no longer a baby. You had better focus your attention on Louisa and get whatever is eating at you taken care of."

"Thank you. I'll put him down for his nap in a few minutes, then he should be out for a couple of hours at least. He'll need a new nappy once he wakes, but other than that I'll make sure he's dressed and ready. Maybe you could bring him to see his mother after he wakes? She was asking for him earlier and will disappointed to learn I left him here. I'll fit his seat in your car before I leave."

"Right, then. And while in a motherly frame of mind, so to speak, I implore you to finish that sandwich I brought you prior to heading out, or at the very least start it. A bit dry I'm afraid, but edible."

"Yes, good. And I . . . appreciate your help with this."

XxXxX

"Martin, where is James?"

"He's at home, with Aunt Ruth. Needed a nap, was terribly whingey when I got him from the Newton woman, doubt he slept all that well last night . . . I know I didn't."

"No, me neither . . . not really, I miss him. And it's Hana, Martin."

"Mm, yes. Ruth's bringing him by once he wakes, but like I said before I won't have you holding him and I will have him in a firm grip, and that is not up for discussion."

"I know – I just need to see him and he needs to know I'm okay as well, 'right?"

"Yes. Uhm, look, Louisa . . . before they get here there's something we need to talk about, something important."

Seeing a look of horror on her face I hastily add "NOT James, and not medical, nothing medical . . . at least not directly."

"Then what, what's going on Martin? Did you scare Hana off, please tell me we still have a minder?"

"I didn't scare anybody off . . . quite the contrary. As a matter of fact, James seems reasonably content there as far as I can tell and Mrs Newton was very accommodating and asked no questions yesterday when I didn't make it by with James' night things, like I had planned on."

"Oh. Why not, did something happen?"

"I went for a drive yesterday, while you were sleeping, to, uhm, Devon. Princetown specifically."

"What, why? Why Princetown? There's nothing out that way but for the . . . Prison. . . ."

She seems to realise where this is headed and the confusion evident on her face leaves me uneasy.

"Dad? You went to see my dad, but why? He doesn't even know we're . . . that we're together; married, parents – that he's a granddad, or any of it."

"And he still doesn't Louisa."

"I see, so not a 'family' visit then. How . . . how is he? I feel a bit . . . guilty now, having kept it a secret all this time. I'm going to have to face him again eventually, you know."

"Mm, yes. Yes you will. He appeared healthy, fine. Consistent with his medical records."

"Right, so no surprises on that end of the family then. He always was healthy as a horse."

"A very dark horse, Louisa. There, uhm, there was _one_ surprise, as a matter of fact – one very _real_ surprise. And I think you should . . . I need for you to read this first, to see where you stand, what's going on and . . . and then we will talk or . . . I can listen. Whatever you need, I'm not going anywhere."

Louisa's bed is in the corner of the ward and the bed next to her is currently vacant, so we have some modicum of privacy. Reaching for the letter I give it to her and find myself unable to let go of her hand. As she carefully unfolds the piece of paper that one way or another is going to change her life, cchange _our_ lives, I observe her lips silently forming the novel words as she begins to take in what her eyes are seeing.

_To My Sister,_

_. . . _

* * *

><p><em>AN:_

_*Helen Morton and 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two. If you like detective dramas, then DCI Banks is an excellent one to watch and our DI Helen Morton enters the series during the first episode of Series Two, 'Strange Affair', though no prior knowledge of the series is necessary. To each and every one of you in the Doc Martin universe and beyond I wish you a Happy Christmas, hope it will be a good one. -DC_


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